


The Chains That Bind Us

by kylar



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Blood, Eventual Sexual Content, Forced Servitude, Kidnapping, Language, M/M, Manipulation, Oppression, Slavery, Slow Build, Slurs, antisemitic slurs, brief antisemitism, just wanted to clarify for any wary readers, noble!oikawa, self-depreciation, slave!iwaizumi, there are no forced sexual/romantic situations, there is no rape or non-con, there is no relationship built on the effects of a slave/slave master relationship, there is no relationship until after the slave dynamic is erased, there is no sexual/romantic manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-07 12:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8800732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylar/pseuds/kylar
Summary: Iwaizumi never expected someone would be bold enough to try and target him. His family always warned him to be wary when out by himself, far from the denseness of the city. Out here, where no one would miss them, it wasn’t uncommon for young men and women to disappear, victims of slave traders hunting for good stock. But Iwaizumi didn’t listen, and now he’s befallen the same fate. Not one to submit easily, he puts up a fight and holds onto his will to survive, biding his time until he can escape the chains of slavery and return to his family. But when a young noble purchases him unexpectedly as a palace slave, his chance of escape disappears almost completely. He’ll need to come up with a new strategy to escape this mysterious young noble that continues to surprise Iwaizumi at every turn, and the chains that bind Iwaizumi to him.





	1. The Tjaty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this started out as a tumblr fic, but it got enough attention over there (and there were even some requests) so I decided to start uploading it here. For those who came here from tumblr, I have added a few little bits of content here and there in order to connect a few of the shorter segments into appropriate chapter lengths for AO3, but other than that there are no changes. For those who are reading for the first time, I hope you enjoy! And if you wouldn't mind also visiting the [original posting of this fic](http://bokusaka.tumblr.com/post/149726964276/the-chains-that-bind-us/) and giving it a like and/or reblog, that would be awesome.
> 
> Anyways, whether you've read it already or are reading it for the first time, I hope you enjoy!

“I need a slave,” the kid says. And he really is just a kid, his face young and skin smooth, his eyes wide, brown, and youthful. But they’re blank, these windows to the soul closed and shuttered to the outside world. Dark circles marring the delicate skin under his eyes are the only imperfections in his young face. His bare chest shows only the slightest definition of muscle, mostly soft, clean skin that’s never known the sweat of hard work or the sting of a whip. And even from this distance, it’s obvious his hands are free of any calluses. This kid adorned in shimmering gold necklaces and armbands, spotlessly white  _shendyt_  and  _nemes_ , has never worked a day in his life, that much is clear to Iwaizumi. No, he buys slaves to do all his work for him.

“I have a wide variety of slaves, my lord,” the slave trader tells the kid. “Hard labor slaves, palace slaves, pleasure slaves…. What kind of slaves would you like me to show you?”

“I need a slave that can read and write,” the kid answers, his unfeeling eyes scanning over the line of slaves before him. His eyes pause for a split second on Iwaizumi and he fidgets under the weight of the stare, which is highly unusual. It usually takes a lot to unnerve Iwaizumi. “Also, preferably, one proficient in maths.”

“Ah, so an educated slave,” the slave trader hums, looking back over his stock. “Unfortunately, those are quite hard to come by. However, luckily, I do have one that’s proven to be literate.”

The slave trader heads down the line, stopping right before Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi schools his expression into a hard, cold stare, flexing his wrists against the rope restraints. The trader grabs at the wooden tag hanging from Iwaizumi’s neck, lifting it to check the identifying marks painted onto its surface, then drops it back against Iwaizumi’s chest and pulls him forward.

The kid steps forward to examine Iwaizumi, his gaze analytical and assessing. Iwaizumi flexes against his restraints again, wondering how so many slaves can bend and submit to pompous brats like this one. Will it happen to Iwaizumi one day? Will he eventually crack and willingly bow to others simply because they have money? Simply because they weren’t dragged from their home in the dead of night and sold into slavery? Iwaizumi shudders at the thought. He will never willingly bend a knee to these arrogant, entitled nobility.

“I will warn you, my lord, that this one is new to this market, and has yet to have served a master. He is headstrong and is still in need of being broken, but he is the only slave I have that is literate.”

The boy that had accompanied the kid- nearly the same age, Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s a slave or not- steps forward to inspect Iwaizumi. He squints down at Iwaizumi’s identification tag. “His plaque says he’s a hard labor slave, for field and farm work. And look at his build. He will draw a lot of unneeded attention in the palace. My lord, surely we can do better than this brute.”

The noble kid barely looks at Iwaizumi twice and completely ignores the words of his companion. “He’ll do,” he says to the trader, as if he were simply approving a decoration for a room he never frequents. It’s dismissive, a flick of his wrist in Iwaizumi’s direction and his companion steps forward with a sigh to complete the purchase.

Papers are quickly signed and handed over, payment received, and the trader hands over the rope bound to Iwaizumi’s wrists. The deal is done. Iwaizumi now belongs to this elite brat.

The brat and his companion climb back onto their horses, and Iwaizumi is forced to walk behind them, dragged along by the rope binding his wrists. He had expected the noble brat to live somewhere in the middle of the city, perhaps in a palace surrounded by all his noble friends. But that doesn’t appear to be the case as Iwaizumi is lead through streets that are quickly becoming less populated and through areas that are much more sprawling, until they’re practically out of the city all together. Only there do they reach their destination.

The palace is huge and gaudy, just as in Egyptian nobility fashion, just as Iwaizumi had been expecting. But Iwaizumi hadn’t been expecting something _this_ showy, this ostentatious. This is something Iwaizumi would expect from the _Pharaoh_ himself, not whoever this pretentious kid is.

Great white walls surround huge courtyards filled with exotic plants and flowers and trees. They surround the huge impeccably white palace, large frondy trees framing the front doors and spaced evenly along the walls of the palace. Elaborate sculptures and carvings decorate the palace, obelisks and columns in all the right places.

And of course, slaves can be spotted everywhere. The palace slaves tasked with keeping the courtyard groomed and in perfect order are hard at work. They’re easily identifiable by their off-white _shendyt_ and the gold collars clasped tightly around their necks. It’s a vast difference from the slaves Iwaizumi began his slave training around. He had been designated a labor slave, to be sent out into the fields or onto construction sites. Those slaves were dressed in brown rags, simple loin cloths, and no jewelry or accessories whatsoever. The slaves here though are part of the palace decorations. These are slaves important people will lay eyes on. They’ve been dressed up just as the palace surely is. Iwaizumi isn’t sure this is any better.

Iwaizumi is pulled along behind the companion, who follows behind the noble boy as they weave along the clay footstones leading through the elegant courtyard. Iwaizumi eyes the slaves surrounding him, dreading the moment he’ll be dressed up as they are and thrust out to work alongside them. The slaves don’t pay him any mind. They are focused on the work they need to complete, determined not to incur the wrath of the handlers that can occasionally be spotted throughout the yard.

When they reach the palace, the noble boy continues straight towards the tall overhang leading to the grand front doors. But Iwaizumi is pulled off to the side, along a narrow, nearly hidden path that leads alongside the walls of the palace. They round the great column at the corner and tucked away on the side wall is a small slave entrance. This is the door the companion pulls Iwaizumi through.

The room they enter must be a part of the slave quarters. The walls are bare, the paint chipped. This area isn’t cared for like the rest of the palace surely is, nor is it extravagantly decorated. It isn’t decorated at all. Many men and women, all palace slaves, wander these halls in between tasks. All duck to the side, pressing their backs to the walls with their heads bowed as the companion leads Iwaizumi through the halls. So the companion is not a slave. Even the master of slaves would not receive such respect.

Iwaizumi is led into a small room with three straw beds filling the space. The room is empty of any other slaves, and the companion gestures to the bed on the far left of the room. On top are the folds of Iwaizumi’s new clothes, as well as a gold collar of his very own.

“This is your room,” the companion announces. “Change out of that rag. Quickly now.”

Iwaizumi holds his glare on the companion for only a moment as he frees Iwaizumi’s wrists of their binds before complying. This isn’t the companion’s fault. He’s not the one who kidnapped Iwaizumi from his home. He’s not the one who strapped Iwaizumi to a lashing post and nearly tore the skin from his back under a whip in an attempt to break him. He’s not the one who sold Iwaizumi into slavery. And he’s not the one who purchased Iwaizumi to be a house slave in this decadent palace. None of this is his fault.

Iwaizumi does as instructed, having no shame as he unties his tattered loin cloth and lets it fall to the floor. He picks up the off-white _shendyt_ and wraps the brown belt around his waist, tying it above his groin. The companion steps forward to take the collar and fasten it around Iwaizumi’s neck. Every instinct in him screams for him to fight, to resist. Don’t let this boy lock that collar around his neck. If that happens, there is no escape. Without the key or a blacksmith, there is no removing the collar. And a blacksmith will not remove it without the presence and permission of the slave master. But he doesn’t fight. Fighting will do him no good here.

So he simply stands silent and still as the collar clicks with a lock at the back of his neck, sealing his fate as a palace slave.

“Your primary duty will be as personal slave to the _Tjaty_ heir,” the companion tells him as he renews the binds on Iwaizumi’s wrists. Iwaizumi is not sure how he’s expected to work with bound wrists. He supposes their distrust in him outweighs their need for him to be able to use his hands. He absent-mindedly wonders if he should be trying to gain their trust. Maybe then he’ll be able to use it to his advantage. “When the _Tjaty_ does not need you, you are to find me and I will put you to work until you are needed again.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t nod, doesn’t acknowledge the companion. _Tjaty_? So that wasn’t just any pompous brat. He was an associate of the _Tjaty._ The only person in all of Egypt with higher status than the _Tjaty_ is the _Pharaoh_. This explains the extravagance of the palace.

“What can we call you?” the companion questions after the beat of silence.

Iwaizumi ponders withholding the information, but then the thought of being referred to only as ‘slave’ loosens his tongue. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“I am Yahaba, and I am Master of the House,” the companion, Yahaba, tells him. “You will answer to me, of course when you are not answering to the young lord. The _Tjaty_ is a very respected man, and very prominent figures visit this palace, including the _Pharaoh_ himself. You are expected to behave perfectly, and any poor behavior will not be tolerated. Any behavior that reflects badly upon the name of the house will be treated as traitorous and is punishable by death. Have I made myself clear?”

A frown pulls at Iwaizumi’s lips as he regards the short Master of the House. He doesn’t want to cause any issues- especially not on the first day- by arguing with Yahaba though, so he nods. He needs to gain this man’s trust above everyone else’s. This is the man he will be able to steal his freedom from when the time comes.

“Come,” Yahaba tells him as he heads from the small room. “You need to finish being prepared to meet your new master.”

Iwaizumi follows behind Yahaba, pulling at the restraints binding his hands. They’re tight, digging into the flesh of his wrists. He’s not sure what Yahaba means by ‘finish being prepared’ but he knows he’s probably not going to like it, whatever it may be. He has no choice but to follow though, so he does as Yahaba leads him into a room towards the end of the hall.

Two women look up when they enter. Yahaba gestures for Iwaizumi to step forward. “The young lord has purchased a slave. Clean him up and get him prepared to meet the _Tjaty._ ”

The two women nod and one pulls him to the edge of a tub while the other starts to gather oils and soaps. They murmur to each other in hushed voices, but they carry their conversation right over the top of Iwaizumi’s head so he hears every word. They wonder why the _Tjaty_ bought a palace slave that looks like Iwaizumi. He’s not built to be a palace slave. Iwaizumi agrees. If he had been bought for hard labor out in a field or on a construction site, he’d have a much better chance of escape.

Yahaba hovers by the door as the two women scrub Iwaizumi clean, dabbing mild perfumes onto his skin, then delicately painting thick black lines on Iwaizumi’s eyelids. They then fit him with a black wig with a crown of golden cord to match the wigs of the other palace slaves, to make him unidentifiable from the rest. They do their best to make Iwaizumi presentable for the _Tjaty_ , and Iwaizumi reluctantly sits through all of it. When they finally finish, the women bow to Yahaba and Yahaba steps forward to inspect their work.

“I suppose that’s good enough,” he says, turning Iwaizumi’s chin this way and that. “You did the best you could with what you had. Let’s go meet the _Tjaty_ heir.”

With that, Iwaizumi is led out of the servants’ quarters. The rest of the palace is nothing like the servants’ quarters. It almost causes Iwaizumi’s steps to falter, but he continues behind Yahaba as he’s led through the grand halls. The inside of the palace proves just as magnificent and superfluous as the outside, and definitely fitting of a _Tjaty_. Beautiful decorations and paintings adorn the walls, murals of great events in Egyptian history, depictions of their many gods, statues and busts of past _Pharaohs_ , and of people Iwaizumi don’t recognize. Most likely past _Tjaty_. Large vases hold huge fronds to add color to the inside of the palace, and at one point they pass an indoor courtyard with a tall palm growing through an opening in the roof.

It’s the most extravagant household Iwaizumi has ever seen and he tries not to marvel at it all. If he were here under any other circumstances, he’d find it all awing. But now, being forced through these halls with bound wrists, on his way to meet a master that just stole his freedom away from him, he is anything but in awe.

Servants bustle by him, and Iwaizumi is surprised at the sheer number of people in forced servitude in this palace. How many slaves does one family need? It disgusts Iwaizumi, and by the time they reach an intricately carved set of double doors and Yahaba pauses to knock, he is angry and pulling at his restraints.

Iwaizumi hears the soft rumble of a voice inside, but can’t make out the words. Then the doors are opening and a slave peeks out.

“It’s the Master of the House, My Lord,” the slave announces.

“Let him in,” a voice calls back. It’s an oddly familiar voice, but Iwaizumi can’t imagine how he’d recognize a voice here. “And leave us.”

The slave nods, opening the doors to Iwaizumi and Yahaba. Iwaizumi allows himself to be pulled inside and the slave exits behind them and closes the door. They’re in personal rooms, Iwaizumi quickly realizes. The room they’ve entered is open, the back wall a huge window overlooking a garden of a thousand colors. The soft, transparent drapes hang from the windows, not doing anything to block the light streaming in or the view looking out, but adding to the décor of the room and perhaps a sense of privacy. Tapestries and murals cover every inch of wall space, but these ones all appear to be more personal than the ones in the hallways. A low table sits in the middle with cushions haphazardly placed around it and a vase of flowers in the center. And in the corner is a desk covered in parchment and books and brushes and ink. It’s a mess, but it’s the only thing in the neat room that is so.

The only occupant in the room aside from Iwaizumi and Yahaba is sitting at the desk. He’s bowed over the parchment in front of him, his head bare of its white _nemes_ which sits on the desk top at his elbow. His light chocolate brown hair is somewhat rumpled from the _nemes_ but still seems perfectly fluffed against his pale skin. And when he stands, Iwaizumi is faced with the stoic and young face of the servant from the market. The one who barely glanced at Iwaizumi before instructing Yahaba to pay for him.

What strikes Iwaizumi- aside from being faced with this boy again- is how different he looks with the lack of his _nemes_ and eye kohl. He still has his solid gold _wesekh_ collar adorned in colored jewels and golden armbands above his biceps and at his wrists. But the clearing of his face and reveal of his soft locks makes him look less serious and more like the boy he is. He’s shockingly handsome, but Iwaizumi tries not to think too much on that revelation. It’s a dangerous thought to have.

“I thought you said I was meeting the _Tjaty_ ,” Iwaizumi says, trying not to sound as confused as he is.

Yahaba’s leg kicks out into the backs of Iwaizumi’s knees as he simultaneously jerks his bound wrists down. Iwaizumi is forced to his knees, unable to maintain his balance. Yahaba’s hand falls to Iwaizumi’s head as he forces it down into a bow.

“Excuse his disrespect, My Lord,” Yahaba says. “I promise you I will have him broken and house trained as soon as possible.”

“You’ve never disappointed me in the past, and I don’t expect you will with him either, Yahaba,” the boy says as he steps forward to close the space between them. All Iwaizumi can see of the boy are his sandaled feet as he stops in front of Iwaizumi. But then he crouches down, his arms resting on his knees, and Yahaba forces his head up to meet the brown eyes of the palace brat. “I am _Tjaty_ Oikawa Tooru, slave. Surprised?”


	2. Punishment

“ _You’re_ the _Tjaty_?” Iwaizumi questions in shock. He can’t stop the words. They spill from his mouth before he can question the wisdom of voicing them.

His head is forced back down to look at the ground. “Watch your tongue, slave,” Yahaba growls.

But the _Tjaty_ just laughs. “I am the son of the _Tjaty._ But I hold the same title, am held in just as high esteem as my father, and have just as many responsibilities, if not more,” Oikawa explains. He looks up at Yahaba. “Have you acquired his name?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime, My Lord.”

“So, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa smiles. The nickname has Iwaizumi looking up at the heir. “The trader told me you are able to read and write. I sure hope that’s the case, because that’s the only reason I bought you.”

“I can read and write,” Iwaizumi assures him, his tone hard.

That earns him a hard smack on the back of the head from Yahaba. “You will address the _Tjaty_ correctly and with respect.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, gritting his teeth against the retort that immediately springs onto his tongue. It will do him no good to voice his thoughts here.

Apparently Iwaizumi’s silence isn’t good enough for Yahaba, because he grabs the back of Iwaizumi’s neck to force him into a lower bow. “Am I understood, slave?”

Something in Iwaizumi finally snaps. It’s been over a week since he was snatched from his home and this whole shit storm began. Every day has proved to be worse and worse, his situation tumbling down a steep hill with no way for Iwaizumi to stop it. He’s had enough of this, of being forced into submission to the likes of people like Oikawa Tooru.

He ducks out from under Yahaba’s hand, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing Yahaba’s arm in his still bound hands. Faster than anyone can react, Iwaizumi has pulled Yahaba’s arm around his back and forced him onto his stomach on the ground. With his knee pressed into the Master of the House’s back, Iwaizumi leans over him to respond, “Understood, _sir_.”

Iwaizumi knows there will be consequences for his actions, but as he climbs off of Yabaha’s back and resumes his kneeling position before the _Tjaty_ , he doesn’t care. He’ll take the punishment. It was worth it to remind Yahaba, to remind the both of them, that Iwaizumi is strong, and that he will not willingly submit to either of them.

In front of him, Oikawa doesn’t seem at all concerned over the rogue slave seated before him, at how easily Iwaizumi was able to overpower his handler. In fact, he has an excited smile on his face, as if he found the brief altercation amusing.

Yahaba scrambles to his feet, a look of sheer fury on his face. “You insolent-”

Oikawa laughs, Yahaba cutting off his angry tirade to look to the _Tjaty_ in surprise. “He’s got spirit. I like that. You have your work cut out for you, Ya-chan. You can start by taking him to the whipping post.”

“How many lashes, My Lord?” Yahaba asks as he straightens out his perfectly white _shendyt_.

“Fifty,” Oikawa answers as he heads back to his desk. “And when you finish, take him to a separate room and leave him there with no food or water for the night.”

…

The rest of the afternoon and into the night passes in a haze for Iwaizumi. He can barely think past the pain radiating through his back. He can feel it wet and sticky with blood, and if he were to remove his face from the scratchy pillow to look down at the sheets beneath him, he’d see them stained as it drips from his back.

The day after he’d been grabbed, the trader had taken a whip to his back. It had been the first time Iwaizumi had ever been whipped, but then it had only been twenty lashes, and the trader had been quick about it, one lash immediately after the other. The pain of the first lash had dulled the pain of the ones immediately following. This time, it was more than twice as many lashes, and the man who had wielded the whip had drawn it out, allowing a number of breaths between each lash. After one fell against his back, there was time for the sting to fade, to dull, before the next lash fell and renewed the pain.

Iwaiuzmi had lost consciousness towards the end. He had been counting each lash through the excruciating agony, and the last he remembers before waking on this bed was the thirty-ninth lash. Since returning to consciousness, his mind has been in and out, the pain making it hard for him to hold on to his awareness, but also making it hard to stay asleep. Once, when he woke, there was a physician bent over his back, cleaning the wounds and insuring they would not become infected. He had muttered something to Iwaizumi about not letting the slave die so soon after being purchased by the _Tjaty_.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what time it is, or how long it’s been since he was taken down from the post, when Yahaba enters. A slave brings in a chair for him and he sits, his eyes roaming over Iwaizumi’s marred back. Iwaizumi watches him with fuzz at the edges of his vision, his eyes having trouble focusing on the soft brown of his hair, on the delicateness of his jaw line, on the way he picks at a fingernail. There’s a blooming bruise, small, just on the corner of his chin, from where Iwaizumi must’ve shoved him too hard into the tiled floor in Oikawa’s room.

Iwaizumi is awake- from the moment the door of his room opened and the Master of the House stepped inside, Iwaizumi has been awake. Yahaba must know he’s awake. Iwaizumi’s green eyes are open and watching his movements. Despite that, Yahaba doesn’t say anything. He merely sits in his chair, his eyes watching Iwaizumi with a calm, nearly bored disposition.

“The physician said you should be back to full mobility with no risk of reopening your wounds in about two weeks,” Yahaba suddenly says, his eyes locking onto Iwaiuzmi’s. “However, the young lord bought you for your education, not for your muscle, however brutish it may be. Your duties do not include any means of physical exertion like the others. As soon as you are able to stand from that bed, you will be put to work.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. He’s not sure he would be able to force the words from his mouth. And that would be if he even had anything to say. He’s angry with the Master of the House. He’s not the one who raised the whip against Iwaizumi’s back, and he’s not the one who ordered it raised, but he stood there, watching, calling for the lasher to pause longer between lashes, to flick the whip quicker, to hit him lower on his back. He’s mad at him for being able to watch as Iwaizumi slowly broke down beneath the sting of the whip. He’s mad at the _Tjaty_ for sanctioning the lashes.

But at the moment, he’s the most upset with himself. He knew there would be consequences of acting out as he did, but he made no effort to stop himself. He brought this punishment upon himself. He also knows though, that the blame isn’t on him. It’s entirely on the traders that dragged him from his home and sold him into slavery to this pretentious palace brat. As he stares Yahaba down, he decides that if he ever gets himself out of these figurative chains, that those traders better pray to every god they know that Iwaizumi doesn’t find them. Because if he does, he’ll be paying them back tenfold for every bit of pain and suffering they’ve caused him.

It’s four full days before the palace physician allows Iwaizumi to leave his bed. And when he does, it’s with great care and a lot of support on the arms of the physician. But Iwaizumi does get to his feet, and he has to admit it feels wonderful. He was getting sick of lying on his stomach on that itchy, uncomfortable straw bed. The skin of his back shifts and pulls, pain pulsing at every lash mark. But the physician assures him there’s no opening of wounds, no bleeding, and he helps dress Iwaizumi into his _shendyt_ and wig. He calls in another slave to clean him and apply kohl to his eyes and make him presentable.

The physician sends a slave to go fetch Yahaba, and they both return only minutes later. Yahaba inspects the healing lashes across Iwaizumi’s back, then nods his satisfaction and motions for Iwaizumi to follow him out of the quarters. Yahaba surprises Iwaizumi when he keeps his pace slow so that Iwaizumi can comfortably keep up. He hadn’t been expecting something so considerate from the Master of the House. Although, the smaller man has surprised him a lot these last few days.

After the first time Yahaba came into his room to tell him he’d be put to work as soon as possible, he seemed to soften a little. He even apologized for the amount of damage inflicted on Iwaizumi’s back. He expressed that he doesn’t enjoy having a slave whipped, damaging their skin like this, but that it was necessary for Iwaizumi to learn his place, and the consequences of acting out against his masters as he had. After that, Yahaba came in just to talk with Iwaizumi, just to keep him company in his recovery. And, although still angry, Iwaizumi is left with the impression that Yahaba is actually a rather kind, gentle soul, despite the harshness his position requires of him.

They reach the same double doors they had come to a few days ago and again Yahaba knocks. This time though, when the same slave answers the door, he lets the two of them in without a word and exits promptly behind them.

The room is empty, but it’s only a moment after the thick door closes behind the slave that Oikawa emerges from a doorway to the right of the room. He’s dressed down just as he was the last time Iwaizumi visited these rooms. But unlike last time, he’s no longer wearing his fancy _shendyt_ , just a simple white loin cloth that hangs nearly to his knees, exposing just the slimmest slivers of pale skin up the outside of his thighs and over his hips.

Iwaizumi is struck by how exhausted he looks, despite the mask of a smile he puts on to attempt to hide it. The circles under his eyes are even darker than they were the other day, and his shoulders are slouched just so. It’s almost not even noticeable, but he has a heaviness about him, a weariness that he can’t completely cover with the guise of that dazzling smile.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Iwa-chan,” the _Tjaty_ says by way of greeting. Again Iwaizumi is surprised by nickname. “I really don’t like putting that post to use. Turn around, let me see.”

Iwaizumi does as asked, turning his back to Oikawa. He hears the man inhale, then click his tongue. Iwaizumi fights to keep from clenching his fists at his sides- Yahaba not having bound his wrists today- at the apparent regret. He’s the one with regret? He regrets having Iwaizumi lashed to the point of unconsciousness? And yet he wields that punishment around as freely and easily as a child who finds his father’s knife.

“It’s a shame really, to mark such a specimen like this. Perhaps we should’ve gone twenty strokes less, hm, Ya-chan?”

“I will keep that in mind if there is a next time, My Lord,” Yahaba replies as Iwaizumi turns back around. “He has been cleared for non-laborious work, so if you need him, he can be put to use.”

“Ah yes! Perfect,” Oikawa says with a smile. “I have a lot of catching up to do. Come, Iwa-chan. I’ll show you what it is I purchased you for.”

“Would you like me to stay and keep him in line, My Lord?” Yahaba asks the _Tjaty_. “As you can expect, I haven’t yet had the opportunity to begin house training him.”

“I think we’ll be okay by ourselves, right Iwa-chan?” Oikawa says, turning a questioning smile onto Iwaizumi. “It wouldn’t appear you’re in much of a position to fight me, even if you haven’t learned your lesson.”

“No, My Lord,” Iwaizumi says, forcing the title past his lips. It still doesn’t seem to be good enough for Yahaba, because he shoots a hand out to force Iwaizumi’s head down into a bow.

“Very well, I will leave you two to it then. Call for me when you are finished with him, or if there are any problems.”

With that said, Yahaba bows and excuses himself. The heavy wood door closes behind him, leaving Iwaizumi alone with the _Tjaty_. There’s a long minute of silence between the two of them, Iwaizumi waiting in dreaded anticipation for the _Tjaty’s_ command and Oikawa watching Iwaizumi with an amused smirk. It’s Oikawa who breaks the silence, Iwaizumi not daring to speak without express permission.

“Don’t look at me like that, Iwa-chan. I have nothing too tedious for you today,” Oikawa assures him. “If you can read and write like the trader promised me, then this will be easy for you.”

Iwaizumi continues to watch Oikawa as he crosses to his desk and starts to sort through the parchment there. Iwaizumi isn’t sure how to behave around the _Tjaty_. He’s still confused over the events of a few days ago. How can he be so calm in front of a slave that attacked his handler right in front of him? How can he so easily dismiss someone that would be able to intervene if Iwaizumi were to attack him? Iwaizumi’s hands are unbound. It would be so easy for him to wrap his hands around the _Tjaty’s_ skinny little neck, squeeze until there’s no life left in those bright brown eyes, then climb out that window and run back home.

The wounds across his back twinge and it reminds him why it is Oikawa isn’t afraid of being alone with the rogue slave.

“Well?” Oikawa questions, straightening and turning to regard Iwaizumi. “You can read and write, can’t you?”

“In three languages, which is probably two more than you,” Iwaizumi says, unable to stop the retort from leaving his lips.

The _Tjaty’s_ eyes widen. But he’s not upset. It’s that amused sort of astonishment that brings a smirk to his lips. It’s the same look he gave Iwaizumi the other day when Iwaizumi put Yahaba on the ground.

“Can you now?” he hums, truly intrigued. “Which languages?”

“Egyptian, Hebrew, and Arabic,” Iwaizumi answers. “I’m also proficient in Latin and Greek, although I can’t write either of them very well.”

“Fascinating,” the _Tjaty_ breathes. “And I’ll have you know, you are only literate in _one_ more language than I. I can write Arabic quite well. Speaking it is a challenge, however. Perhaps I can get your assistance with that when the need arises.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, managing to keep his tongue in check. He doesn’t know what to say that’s not a retort, or an insulting comment, so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, when Oikawa gestures for him to come over to the desk, he obeys.

“Help me finish copying these letters,” Oikawa tells him. “I already have twenty copies, but I need thirty more.”

Iwaizumi watches the _Tjaty_ shuffle a stack of blank parchment together. He hands some to Iwaizumi.

“Pull up a chair. These letters needed to be sent out two days ago. Why do you think I was so quick to buy you, an unbroken brute, rather than shop around?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on that either, simply doing as told and pulling a chair closer to Oikawa’s desk. He’s offered a quill and ink and takes them. He can feel Oikawa’s eyes on him as he slides the completed letter closer and starts to write. It’s as if the _Tjaty_ is still skeptical of Iwaizumi’s literacy. But character after character begins to cover the page, giving Oikawa all the proof he needs.

“I thought you said I would be the one helping you, so why are you just sitting there staring at me?” Iwaizumi can’t help but ask as he finishes the third line of text.

He doesn’t have to look at Oikawa to know he has that same smirk pulling at his lips. But he pulls up a blank piece of parchment and a quill. “You have quite a mouth on you for a slave,” Oikawa says. He doesn’t wait for a response before speaking again. “So how did a slave learn to read and write in three languages, and speak two others?”

“It’s because I’m not a slave.”

The _Tjaty_ goes quiet, and Iwaizumi can feel the shift in the air between them. Oikawa’s quill stills on his parchment and he looks up at Iwaizumi.

“The slave trader did say that you were new to the market,” Oikawa muses aloud. “I can assume you didn’t end up in that stock by your own choosing?”

“Does any slave?” Iwaizumi is quick to counter.

At that, Oikawa shrugs. “You’d be surprised.”

Iwaizumi can’t imagine what the _Tjaty_ could possibly know about such a thing, but he decides not to voice his doubts. They fall silent again, the only sounds in the room that of the scratching of quills on parchment, and the occasional click of the tips being dipped into the ink. The silence is tense, but somewhat comfortable. Iwaizumi prefers it to the arrogant and haughty voice of the _Tjaty_. He manages to finish three letters before Oikawa speaks again.

“Who taught you these languages?” Oikawa asks him. “Where did you learn?”

“From my father. He’s a teacher,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“Where does he teach?”

“My hometown,” Iwaizumi answers vaguely. He’s not sure he wants to tell Oikawa where he’s from. “A five days walk east.”

“East? Five days?” the _Tjaty_ hums in mild surprise. “Is Egyptian not your native tongue?”

“No. Hebrew was my first language, the language of my father. My mother is Arabic and I learned her language very early. Egyptian is my third language.”

“Fascinating,” he breathes, and only then does Iwaizumi look up at Oikawa. His smile is that same amused smile he always seems to wear any time something new is revealed about Iwaizumi. “What else did your father teach you?”

Iwaizumi looks down at the parchment in front of him, dipping his quill into the ink to start the next line. “He taught me a lot of things. Maths, sciences, we studied literature and arts. He was a smart man.”

“Was?” Oikawa questions.

“He died a year ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” the _Tjaty_ says, and Iwaizumi is surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “It sounds like he was a great man.”

“He was.”

A silence draws out again, and Iwaizumi is grateful. He doesn’t want to talk about his father, not with the _Tjaty_. His father belongs in a different world, back home in Israel, not in Egypt under the chains that bind Iwaizumi here. He’s grateful for the time that passes without another word from Oikawa about his father or his home life.

They finish up the letters in the same silence, and immediately move on to the next task. Iwaizumi’s back aches as he sits there, growing more and more painful as the afternoon wears on. The sun sets, the gardens outside the window plunging into darkness. Oikawa calls in the slave Iwaizumi is starting to assume is his personal slave to light some torches around the room and the candles on the desk. Neither he nor Iwaizumi stop working. Eventually Iwaizumi sets his quill down to stretch his back, rolling his head on his neck. He winces at the pull at his wounds.

“You’re bleeding,” Oikawa points out, standing from his chair. He calls for the slave that had just finished lighting the torches to fetch Yahaba. “You’re done for the night. Yahaba will take you back to your room and get the physician to tend to your wounds. I’ll finish these myself.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t argue. He gets to his feet and heads for the door, but the _Tjaty_ stops him. A hand grabs his arm and before Iwaizumi can turn around, something soft presses to his back. Oikawa wipes at his wounds, and Iwaizumi fights a wince of pain.

“Can’t have your clean, white _shendyt_ getting stained with blood. Then I’d have to buy you a new one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised daily updates, and I should be able to keep that up for at least the next couple of days, but I have finals this coming week so I may need to skip a day or two. I won't leave too much time between updates though.


	3. Revelations

Every day Iwaizumi finds himself in Oikawa’s rooms. Every day there’s something new Oikawa has for him to work on. It starts with easier tasks, copying letters and doing simple addition in his financial books. But then it starts to get more complicated. He starts transcribing contracts and agreements, treaties with allied kingdoms, much to Iwaizumi’s excitement- although he’d never admit it. He is put in charge of proof reading and editing speeches for the _Tjaty_ and the _Pharaoh_. Oikawa has Iwaizumi actually managing the finances rather than just adding numbers.

Every day Iwaizumi enters Oikawa’s rooms to see the _Tjaty_ heir more tired and worn than the day before. Every day Iwaizumi notes how exhausted he looks, every day Iwaizumi doesn’t think he could look more worn down. And every day, Iwaizumi is proven wrong.

Even as Iwaizumi’s wounds heal and he becomes more mobile, neither Yahaba nor Oikawa have him restrained. There are many times when Iwaizumi is granted the perfect opportunity to make a run for it. Every time he enters Oikawa’s rooms, he sees the huge window open into the courtyard. It would be so easy to subdue the _Tjaty_ and run. But something stops him. He can’t bring himself to do it. It’s something about the _Tjaty_ that keeps Iwaizumi from raising a hand. It’s his delicateness, the fragility he shows to no one but Iwaizumi, the brokenness that he hides behind a perfect façade whenever he isn’t in this room.

For some reason, Oikawa doesn’t hide his true state in front of Iwaizumi. When they’re alone in his rooms, the masks come off, tossed aside. Iwaizumi can’t understand why he’d show such a weakness in front of a slave that’s proven to be rogue. But he does. And Iwaizumi is curious as to why Oikawa allows him to see it, and how he has come to be in this state in the first place.

Iwaizumi is in the middle of calculating the _Pharaoh’s_ expenses for the last few weeks when Oikawa enters the rooms. He hadn’t been in his rooms when Iwaizumi arrived. Yahaba had let him in and told him to wait for the _Tjaty’s_ return. But Iwaizumi couldn’t sit idle and simply wait. He knew there must be things that needed to be done, so he found Oikawa’s records and got to work.

“I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as he pulls off his _nemes_ and tosses it onto the low table. Next comes his gold _wesekh_.

“Buy another slave,” Iwaizumi retorts, not looking up from the books.

Oikawa lets out a chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d be able to find another slave with skills like yours.”

“Have one kidnapped then.”

Oikawa pauses. Iwaizumi doesn’t look up at him, but he can feel the _Tjaty’s_ stare boring into his back. The silence that follows is long and tense. Iwaizumi doesn’t stop writing.

“So that is what happened to you? How you ended up here?” Oikawa finally speaks.

“Did you think I left Israel and my family and surrendered my freedom voluntarily?” Iwaizumi scoffs. He finally turns in his chair to regard the heir still standing in the middle of the room. “For a smart man you are incredibly oblivious to what is right in front of you.”

“I suppose I’ve been rather… fatigued lately. Not in my right- or aware- mind.”

“Do you think _I_ am oblivious?” Iwaizumi responds rhetorically. “You are more than a little fatigued.”

“We’re straying,” Oikawa murmurs with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if he could bat away the direction of the topic from the very air. “Were you really kidnapped?”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at the _Tjaty_ , sincerely wondering at his state of mind. Surely he can’t be under the delusion that slaves normally surrender their own free will. Of course, some do to gain a roof over their head and regular meals, or to escape crueler circumstances, but most do not come by their situations voluntarily. Surely the heir knows that.

“Of course,” he breathes in response to Iwaizumi’s expression. “Of course someone like you, someone educated, someone with a family… wouldn’t have….”

Oikawa never finishes the sentence, and Iwaizumi jumps to his feet as the _Tjaty_ stumbles in his steps, and then falls onto his knees on the hard marble flooring. One of his hands grips the edge of the table in an attempt to steady himself as the other goes to his head. His eyes are dazed, and then they go completely blank as he falls to the floor.

Iwaizumi hurries over, hands hovering over the _Tjaty_ but unsure of what to do. The man lies unconscious on the floor, and when Iwaizumi rolls him onto his back and slaps gently at his cheeks, there is no response. Iwaizumi sits back on his heels, staring at his unconscious master, then lifts his eyes to the open window.

But Iwaizumi can’t do it. He can’t just run. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t just leave Oikawa laying unconscious on the floor like that. So he hurries to the doors of Oikawa’s rooms and throws them open. A slave is passing by and Iwaizumi quickly stops him, asking him to fetch Yahaba. The slave nods nervously and quickly takes off down the hall, and Iwaizumi returns to Oikawa’s side.

Yahaba arrives quickly, both he and the slave Iwaizumi had sent to go fetch him breathing hard. The slave waits by the open door, but Yahaba hurries inside and kneels by the _Tjaty’s_ side. Iwaiuzmi moves over a little so Yahaba can get a proper look at the unconscious heir. Yahaba tells Iwaizumi that the physician should be here shortly, then eyes Iwaizumi curiously.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he says, his eyes falling back to Oikawa’s face, more relaxed in unconsciousness than Iwaizumi’s ever seen him.

Iwaizumi hesitates in his answer, but eventually replies, “So am I.”

When the physician arrives, Yahaba calls to the slave that Iwaizumi had sent to fetch him. It’s the same slave that always seems to be hovering around these quarters, the one Iwaizumi assumes is Oikawa’s personal slave. Or perhaps this is just his assignment.

“Kunimi, escort Iwaizumi back to the slave quarters,” Yahaba instructs. “To his assigned room, with the troublesome duo, not the solitary cell.”

Kunimi nods and gestures for Iwaizumi to follow him. Iwaizumi glances back before leaving the room, just as the physician holds something beneath Oikawa’s nose and the _Tjaty_ jolts upright.

“You need to stop pushing yourself so hard, My Lord,” he hears Yahaba tell Oikawa, but then Kunimi is leading Iwaizumi out of the _Tjaty’s_ rooms and into the hallway.

The hallway is almost completely deserted. The two slaves only pass one other as they leave the living quarters. Iwaizumi half expected there to be somewhat of a crowd outside the _Tjaty’s_ rooms, servants and slaves gathered wondering what had happened to their master. But perhaps Yahaba and Kunimi, and even the physician, kept the event under wraps. Perhaps nobody knows that anything is wrong with Oikawa. Perhaps that is by design, and Iwaizumi decides he’ll keep his mouth shut as well. Not that he had any plans to spread word of Oikawa’s fatigued collapse in the first place.

The other slave is completely silent as they make the walk back to the slaves’ quarters. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind though, he has nothing to say to the boy. His mind is too busy thinking over the situation with the _Tjaty. You need to stop pushing yourself so hard_ , Yahaba had told Oikawa when he woke up, the implication being that he is always pushing himself too hard, that perhaps this isn’t the first time Oikawa has collapsed like that. Iwaizumi had known- it is clear as day just from his bedraggled appearance- that Oikawa was fatigued. Beyond fatigued, if it’s causing him to faint. Iwaizumi hadn’t realized just how worn down the _Tjaty_ was. From pushing himself too hard? From working too hard? The boy’s perfect, unmarred skin and pale complexion shows he’s never worked a field or known the sweat of hard labor under a beating sun in his life. All Iwaizumi has known him to do is sit at his desk and occasionally attend meetings. It doesn’t seem like exhausting behavior to Iwaizumi. Surely not to the point of collapse. There must be something more to it, a piece of the puzzle Iwaizumi has not yet been shown.

When Kunimi shows Iwaizumi to his room, Iwaizumi bows his head to the slave, but doesn’t say a word before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Iwaizumi closes the door behind himself, and when his eyes fall on the small room he’s only ever seen once before, lit by the light of a single torch, he’s somewhat surprised to see he’s not alone.

Two pairs of eyes fall on him, belonging to two bodies sprawled out on two of the three beds in the room. The beady green eyes belong to a tall, lanky man with short light brown hair and a smug expression that can rival that of even Oikawa’s. The relaxed brown eyes belong to an even taller man with a mess of black hair and a calm expression that almost unnerves Iwaizumi. They both sit up on their beds as Iwaizumi regards them.

“So this is our new roommate?” the beady eyed brunet questions, not even trying to hide the way he looks Iwaizumi up and down as if he were a horse at the market. “Look at those arms, Mattsun. He doesn’t look like a palace slave. More like he belongs out in the fields. Or building the _Pharaoh’s_ pyramid.”

“Don’t be rude, Makki,” the relaxed one, Mattsun, says. “You weren’t supposed to be a palace slave either. You’re more suited for the stables, mucking the horse shit where no one has to deal with _your_ _own_ horseshit.” He stands and extends his hand to Iwaizumi, ignoring Makki’s muttered complaints. “Don’t mind Hanamaki. He’s a piece of shit with a mouth you’d love to slap right off his smug face. I’m Matsukawa. We look forward to getting to know you, Iwaizumi.”

“Uhm-”

“Wow shit, Kyoutani really did a number on your back, didn’t he?” Hanamaki interrupts, lounging back on his bed as Iwaizumi pulls off his wig and tosses it onto his own bed. He turns to raise an eyebrow at the brunet. “So what did you do?”

“Shut up, Makki,” Matsukawa snaps at him, to which Hanamaki just shrugs.

“I threw Yahaba to the ground and put my knee into his back,” Iwaizumi answers him. “In front of the master.”

“Wow,” Hanamaki says in wide-eyed surprise. “You’ve got guts.”

“Here, guts come at a price,” Iwaizumi says, taking a seat on his bed. So far the two seem alright, Iwaizumi thinks he can handle them. Surely he could’ve ended up with worse roommates.

Hanamaki snorts a laugh and Matsukawa rolls his eyes at him. “You’ve got that right!” Hanamaki chuckles. “So, what brought you into the service of the young _Tjaty_? I highly doubt you’ve trained as a palace slave. Not with those arms.”

“No I haven’t. But the _Tjaty_ needed a slave that was literate, and I was all the trader had,” Iwaizumi answers. “What about you two? Neither of you seem like… the palace type.”

Hanamaki laughs again, but it’s Matsukawa that answers. “Hanamaki should’ve been beheaded by the young master instead of taken into the palace. We both lived on the street scavenging for food. Sometimes we went days without anything to eat. We saw the _Tjaty_ caravan passing through on their way to the _Pharaoh’s_ palace, and Makki had the bright idea of trying to pick the son’s pocket.”

“What?” Hanamaki interrupts. “It wasn’t a _horrible_ idea. Everyone in the royal families always carry a lot of money, even the kids. And the kids are the easiest to pickpocket.”

“Well you were caught,” Matsukawa continues. “The young master didn’t seem to care though, luckily for the both of us. He wanted to let us go, but I begged him to bring us to the palace, where we’d work for him in exchange for regular meals and a place to sleep. He agreed, and we’ve been here ever since.”

“You volunteered to become a slave?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously.

“You didn’t?” Hanamaki counters, at the same time Matsukawa says, “We’re not slaves.”

“If you’re not slaves, why are you here?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Most of us here aren’t. We’re all pretty much free to go whenever we please. Some who are working to pay off debts can’t, but most of the servants were taken off the streets when they had nowhere to go. A lot of the women were prostitutes that escaped their owners and sought refuge here. While most of us voluntarily work in exchange for room and board, some actually make wages to send home to their families. The only actual slaves here belong to the ruling _Tjaty_ , the young master’s father.”

“But most of the servants I’ve seen have the slave collars. Both of you do,” Iwaizumi points out, noting each of their shining gold collars.

“They’re for show,” Hanamaki says, pulling on his own. “Appearances only, for when the _Tjaty_ has important guests. Slaves are part of the royal culture. It would be weird for the _Tjaty_ not to have any.”

“But you said the young master purchased you from a slave trader?” Matsukawa questions.

Iwaizumi just nods.

“And he also said the young master was looking for a literate slave. I wonder why?” Hanamaki says.

“Probably because he’s had such an increase in his duties lately, he’s struggling to catch up,” Matsukawa guesses with a shrug. “He needs someone to help him with all his paperwork.”

“Surely there had to have been someone already in the palace that could read and write,” Hanamaki says. “He couldn’t ask one of them? He had to go purchase a slave from the markets?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flit back and forth between the two, following the conversation as it passes over him. He’s not about to interrupt. He’s learning a lot about the _Tjaty_ heir and the palace life. It somewhat surprises him what Matsukawa said about the slaves. About them not being slaves. He never expected that so many people would volunteer servitude like this.

“Those skills are hard to come by. No one here has those kinds of skills without having duties of their own. They’re not servants, they’re actual political members. And you know how proud the young master is. He’d never ask one of them for help with his duties.”

“But why have the young _Tjaty’s_ duties increased?” Iwaizumi asks. That’s one question the two haven’t answered yet in their dialogue.

Both sets of eyes turn on him, Matsukawa’s in slight surprise, and Hanamaki’s in amused disbelief. Iwaizumi wonders what part of that question he finds amusing.

“You don’t know?” Hanamaki snorts.

“The _Tjaty_ is extremely ill,” Matsukawa starts to explain. “He can barely lift a hand to sign the paperwork he needs to, let alone properly fulfill his role as the right hand of the _Pharaoh_. In his absence, the young master has been forced to take up the reins and handle his father’s duties, on top of his own.”

**…**

The words of Matsukawa and Hanamaki weigh heavily on Iwaizumi’s mind the next day as he makes his way through the halls to the _Tjaty’s_ rooms. He was a little surprised to receive the summons this morning. He figured Oikawa would be resting today after his collapse yesterday. And judging by the exasperated look on Yahaba’s face when he arrives to collect Iwaizumi, the Master of the House had also been hoping Oikawa would take it easy today.

Hanamaki had made it sound like knowledge of the _Tjaty’s_ illness should be a given, but Iwaizumi figures that news like that would make it all the way out to Israel if it were made public. The land is all part of the Egyptian Kingdom, and falls under the influence of the _Pharaoh_ and his _Tjaty_ , despite being so far removed. No word of the _Tjaty’s_ failing health had made it to Iwaizumi’s ears back home, however. It must be a secret to those outside the _Tjaty_ household. It would explain why other advisors have not swarmed to either assist in carrying on his duties, or to try and take the title for themselves. It would explain why Oikawa has had to push himself so hard to keep up. And why he had to purchase a slave to help him. There’s no one he can ask without risking word of his father’s illness leaving the palace.

When Iwaizumi reaches the heir’s rooms, he knocks once. This time when Kunimi answers the door for him, he doesn’t leave. Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi, and does a sort of double take, as if it weren’t Iwaizumi he was expecting to see in his threshold. The surprise doesn’t last long though, and he turns back to whatever had been occupying his attention. He doesn’t give a command for Kunimi to leave the two of them alone as he usually does, instead keeping his focus on the documents laying innocently on his desk. Iwaizumi assumes that Yahaba had a few words with the heir and instructed Kunimi to stay with him and to try and keep him from overworking himself.

“Come, Iwa-chan, we have a lot of work to do today,” Oikawa tells him with a beckoning flick of his wrist. His eyes don’t leave the parchment as he calls, his brow remaining creased in concentration.

Iwaizumi pulls up a chair to the desk and Oikawa slides him a piece of parchment that had been tucked away beneath a few others. Iwaizumi is a little surprised to see it is written in his native tongue.

“This is in Hebrew,” Iwaizumi states. He knows he’s stating the obvious, but it’s intended more as a curious question than an observation.

“Yes, and as we previously established, I can’t read Hebrew, so obviously, I need you to translate it for me,” Oikawa tells him. He’s always snappy and obnoxious, but usually it’s all playful or in jest. Iwaizumi has never felt an actual sting in his words before. At least, he hadn’t before that statement. The mock is much harder than it usually is, and Iwaizumi can’t help but stare at Oikawa.

“Did I stutter? Start writing,” Oikawa snaps when Iwaizumi stares a moment too long.

“Yes, My Lord,” Iwaizumi mutters, turning his attention back onto the words scrawled across the parchment. Things are more serious with him than Iwaizumi ever imagined.

“I need nine copies, one each for the _Pharaoh_ and his advisors, myself included,” Oikawa instructs.

“You mean for your father,” Iwaizumi corrects, already starting on the first line of the document.

“No, I mean for myself,” Oikawa retorts quickly. Iwaizumi notes the way Kunimi flinches at Oikawa’s tone. Or perhaps it’s at Iwaizumi’s boldness with his tongue. “I’ve been training to inherit the _Tjaty_ position. He’s had me attending a few of his meetings, handling a few of his affairs.”

“A few, or all?” Iwaizumi pushes, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. “As I understand it, your father isn’t in much of a state to be training anyone, let alone attending to his duties.”

Oikawa’s grip tightens around his quill and Iwaizumi can hear the delicate instrument creak under the strain, threatening to snap. “You know nothing of the situation, Iwaizumi. I will hear no more of this matter.”

Iwaizumi isn’t an idiot. He knows when to stop. Hearing his full name fall from Oikawa’s lips does something weird to Iwaizumi. He’s never heard anything from the _Tjaty_ heir other than that ridiculous nickname he insists on using. So for him to call him by his full name… Iwaizumi must’ve struck a nerve. Obviously the topic of his father is not something he’s comfortable discussing. Least of all with his slave.

They fall into a companionable, albeit somewhat awkward silence, but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. It sure beats whatever this snappish mood of Oikawa’s is. He’d rather not be chewed out more than he already has been. But after an hour or so, when Iwaizumi is reaching for another parchment to start on his fifth copy, Oikawa speaks. And this time, his voice is much softer, almost back to his usual tone.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Iwaizumi pauses in dipping his quill into the jar of ink. He can hear something in Oikawa’s tone, but he can’t place it. It’s obvious he’s missing something though, so he simply replies, “You’re not the only one.”


	4. Interests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missed update yesterday! I was a little busy, and then I forgot about it until like midnight last night. Also, heads up, there probably won't be an update tomorrow either. I have finals :P

That day is a long one. After Iwaizumi finishes transcribing the document into Egyptian for the _Pharaoh_ and his advisors, Oikawa slips him another document, also in Hebrew, and gives him the same instructions as with the first. At one point, Oikawa steps out to attend a meeting, and isn’t back until nearly nightfall. All the while, Iwaizumi stays in his rooms and finishes his translating, then migrates to the financial accounts. He notes that they haven’t been touched since Iwaizumi was suddenly forced to stop working on them yesterday and continues where he had left off.

When Oikawa returns, he’s just as exhausted as he always appears to be. Iwaizumi can practically watch the way Oikawa sheds his healthy, carefree mask as the heavy doors close behind him and he finds himself alone with his slave. Now that Iwaizumi knows the cause behind the heir’s perpetual fatigue, it all seems to make much more sense. He’s extremely overworked, taking on all his father’s responsibilities on top of his own. The _Tjaty_ position is not one to be taken lightly. There are mountains of work to be done that never fail to overflow onto the _Tjaty’s_ sons. With no other children that Iwaizumi is aware of, all of the _Tjaty’s_ duties have been thrust onto Oikawa’s shoulders. He alone is holding the entirety of this great kingdom’s affairs on his own exhausted shoulders. And he does it while wearing a carefree façade and insisting that he is perfectly capable. Iwaizumi finds it all extremely admirable, if not remarkably idiotic.

But not only are all of Egypt’s political matters sitting squarely on Oikawa’s back, he’s also dealing with an ailing father. Iwaizumi hasn’t heard a single word about a mother or wife, so he assumes that Oikawa is the _Tjaty’s_ only family member, which puts the care of his dying father solely on the heir. Iwaizumi knows what it’s like to care for a sick father. He knows the stress and the fear of watching a father’s health wither and fail. And when that happened to Iwaizumi’s father, he had the support of his mother, as well as his brothers. Oikawa is alone, and as much as Iwaizumi would never admit it, his heart goes out to his master for having to deal with it all alone and silently.

Oikawa hesitates by the low table in the middle of the room, tossing his _nemes_ onto its surface just as he had the other night. Iwaizumi wonders absently if he should move closer this time and prepare to catch him. But with a heavy sigh and a hand ruffling at his hair, the _Tjaty_ makes his way towards the desk. He drops into the chair he had been occupying this morning and reaches for a quill. Iwaizumi’s hand beats him there.

“Perhaps you should go rest your eyes,” Iwaizumi suggests. “You look like you’re about to keel over. Again.”

Oikawa shoots him a hard look, but it doesn’t hold the same steeliness as it did this morning. Iwaizumi will swear that he even sees the hints of a pout on the heir’s lips.

“I’m fine Iwa-chan, I don’t need to rest my eyes,” he huffs, turning his eyes down onto the parchment he had been working on before leaving for the meeting. Iwaizumi can’t explain why hearing that nickname from Oikawa again makes something stir in him after hearing his full name practically snarled earlier.

In full negation of his statement, the _Tjaty_ yawns. He reaches up to rub his fists into his eyes and Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to warn him, simply letting him proceed. He’s not rubbing long before he jolts straight in his chair and looks down at his hands now smeared in black. Iwaizumi has to physically bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the smears of black kohl covering his face. Oikawa groans loudly, dropping his forehead rather hard against the surface of the desk. Sometimes it startles Iwaizumi, being reminded in such ways just how young the _Tjaty_ is.

“Go get me a rag,” Oikawa grumbles into his desk.

Iwaizumi stands and heads to the doorway he assumes leads to the heir’s sleeping chambers. He’s never been in any of Oikawa’s rooms aside from the front room before. There’s been no need before now, all his duties keeping him at that desk.

Iwaizumi doesn’t keep his eyes down as he enters the private chambers, despite knowing that he probably should. Iwaizumi expected to see the space generically decorated just as the front room is, but is surprised to see that it looks much more lived in, much more personal. The bed sits up against the far wall, thin yet opaque netting hung from the ceiling surrounding it on all sides. One flap is tucked up behind a bedpost revealing rumpled sheets. Apparently the _Tjaty_ prefers his personal slave not make up his bed for him every morning. The walls are covered in carvings, the crevices painted in brightly colored inks to make the depictions stand out greatly against the off-white of the clay. Nearly every image is that of a horse, grazing in green pastures, galloping in herds, carrying a rider along the Nile. Iwaizumi also notes the few wooden and clay figures placed just so atop the few surfaces in the room. More horses, frozen in a number of different poses. So the young _Tjaty_ likes horses.

Most of the surfaces serving as platforms for the horse figures appear to be bookshelves. And every single bookshelf is overflowing with books, some beautifully bound, others with rough bindings, and even others threaded together with twine. There are more books than space in the bookshelves, piles of them sitting haphazardly throughout the room. One corner of the room near a large window is piled with blankets, books scattered all around it. Iwaizumi can picture very clearly Oikawa wrapped in those blankets reading by the light of the moon. Most of the other hasty piles sit around the bed, clearly having been tossed from within the netting before rolling over to sleep. There are even a few books left laying open on the small table beside the bed.

Horses and books.

Iwaizumi looks around the room for the door to the bathing chambers and his steps falter. On the wall across from the opening in the netting is a huge piece of parchment oh so carefully posted to the wall in a shining gold frame. It’s a portrait of a woman. She appears young, her eyes bright and a small smile gracing her delicate lips. Iwaizumi is startled by the astounding likeness she bears to the young heir, and he knows her immediately to be his mother. The way it is positioned on the wall, facing the opening in the netting where Oikawa can peer out as he lay in bed, says a lot to Iwaizumi. It’s not hard for him to come to the conclusion that the heir was very close with his mother, and that she is gone. And now Oikawa is losing his father too.

Iwaizumi shakes away his pity and continues to the bathing chambers to find Oikawa a rag. With a rag in hand, he returns to the _Tjaty_.

Oikawa wipes the smeared kohl from his face before tossing the rag off to the side. Iwaizumi had gotten immediately back to work once he sat down, but he can’t help glancing up at the heir. Even with the kohl gone, black circles his eyes, particularly thick on the bags beneath them. It’s no wonder he’s able to pull off a well rested façade outside of this room, with that kohl covering any evidence to the contrary. Without it, Iwaizumi doesn’t think there is anything he could do to convince people he’s not completely over worked.

“You bought me to help you with your duties,” Iwaizumi reminds the _Tjaty_. “Perhaps you should let me do just that and get some rest.”

“When I bought you I was drowning,” Oikawa tells him, and Iwaizumi is surprised that he would freely admit something like that. “Now that you’re here, I’m no longer drowning, but I still have too much work to do. I don’t have time to rest.”

“Rest is important. You could miss things, make mistakes in your exhaustion. And in your position-”

“I know, Iwa-chan! Gods you sound just like Ya-chan,” he grumbles, ducking his head lower to the parchment as he continues to scribble across its surface. “Unless you can come up with a solution that will allow me to rest while also getting all my work done in time, then by all means, I’m all ears. But if all you’re going to do is lecture me, then you can stop. I get enough of that from Ya-chan.”

“You could ask for help,” Iwaizumi points out.

“I thought we already established that that’s what I bought you for.”

“I mean more help. You could ask some of the other advisors to take on some of your work load,” Iwaizumi suggests. “The entire kingdom knows that the _Tjaty_ is the only advisor that actually does any real work for the _Pharaoh_. Surely the other advisors have the time to assist you.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs in the same tone one would use with a child. Iwaizumi finds it somewhat offensive. “You know nothing of politics.”

“I know plenty about politics,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath, turning back to his work. “What I didn’t know was the extent of your pride. But I suppose now I do.”

“You don’t know how the court works, Iwa-chan. I can’t ask the other advisors for help, even if they do have all the spare time in the world,” Oikawa tells him. “Yes, maybe my pride has something to do with it, but the biggest reason is that… if I ask for help, they’ll know I can’t handle this job. Everyone already knows something must be wrong with my father, considering he hasn’t attended a meeting in over a month. But if they realize just how out of the decision making process he is, if they realize that I’m the one carrying all his responsibilities, and if I were to ask them for help, then they’ll try to take this position away from me. They’ll take everything. I already receive enough ridicule from them. I don’t need them also thinking that I can’t do my job.”

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa rant, listening to everything he has to say. Oikawa is right in that Iwaizumi knows nothing of the court politics. He didn’t realize how bad it actually was for Oikawa. But it doesn’t matter, because what Iwaizumi does know is that the heir can’t keep carrying on like this. He will literally work himself into the ground if things don’t change soon.

“Okay, so the other advisors can’t help you,” Iwaizumi relents. “Is there no one else that would be able to lend a hand?”

Oikawa frowns, his quill no longer scratching against the parchment. He doesn’t lift his eyes from the lines of ink though. “No. I have no siblings and my mother is long gone. No one in the court can help, and outside of the court… well, I don’t know anyone outside the court. I’m on my own.”

If he had been asked a week ago if he’d ever be capable of feeling sorry for the heir of one of the richest and most prominent families in all Egypt, Iwaizumi would’ve laughed. _Of course not_ , he would’ve sneered. _Why would I ever feel sorry for someone who has everything?_ But now, sitting next to the _Tjaty_ heir, Iwaizumi realizes that he _doesn’t_ have everything, and that Iwaizumi truly does feel sorry for him.

With that revelation from the heir, the mood in the room drops significantly. It’s as if Oikawa knew he was all alone, but saying it out loud to Iwaizumi only served to force the reality of the statement to sink in. He dejectedly continues to scrawl across the parchment, his lips drawn down a little at the corners and a blankness in his usually bright eyes. Iwaizumi knows it’s not his fault that Oikawa has no one to turn to, and he knows there’s nothing he can do about it either, but he still feels a twinge of guilt, and a need to try and cheer Oikawa up a little.

The only way he can think of to achieve that is to change the subject, so with a sigh he says, “So… horses and books?”

Oikawa looks up at the not so subtle change in topic. His eyes are slightly confused, but it’s better than the blank, lonely look that had been there a minute ago.

“Uh, yeah, I like to read, to keep my mind active and… I like learning things,” Oikawa starts to explain, still seemingly a little confused. “And horses… well. Horses are beautiful beasts and are great listeners. You can tell them your problems without worrying they’ll judge you or tell everybody else.” He drops his quill suddenly, his eyes blowing wide. “Did I really just say that out loud? Wow you must think I’m crazy now.”

“I’ve always thought you were crazy,” Iwaizumi mutters. He ignores the insulted gasp from Oikawa. “But I understand what you’re saying. Back home I had two dogs. I told them a lot of things I wouldn’t dare tell my family. Or anyone, for that matter.”

That draws a smile out of the heir. “You like dogs?” he questions. “We have a few here. They stay out in the yard most of the time. Kyouken-chan really likes working with them.”

“Kyouken-chan?” Iwaizumi questions curiously.

“Kyoutani Kentarou. He works under Ya-chan, mostly handling the yard and security. Which is why he works with the dogs. You met him when he….” Oikawa trails off with a cough, turning his attention quickly back to his paperwork. But Iwaizumi doesn’t need him to continue. He knows what Oikawa had been about to say. The name ‘Kyoutani’ sounds familiar, and Iwaizumi thinks he remembers Yahaba calling the man who had wielded the whip against his back by that name. Also, Hanamaki said the name when he first met his new roommates.

The two of them fall awkwardly silent for a long minute, both continuing with their work. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind the silence, he never does, but this time Oikawa is making this really uncomfortable with his fidgeting and his glances over at Iwaizumi, as if afraid that bringing up his time on the post has offended him.

Oikawa coughs again, interrupting the silence. “You can visit with them, you know,” Oikawa says. “The dogs, I mean. And only when I don’t need your help here.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi replies, deciding not to tell him that, while yes, he does like dogs, he doesn’t feel the need to visit the _Tjaty’s_ dogs. He misses his own dogs.

“What about horses?” Oikawa asks, his voice light again as if their awkwardness had never happened. Iwaizumi is grateful for the shift out of that uncomfortable silence. “Do you like horses too?”

“I don’t really have any opinions on them. I’ve never had any dealings with them,” Iwaizumi answers honestly, although if he had anticipated the heir’s reaction to that statement, he would’ve lied and just told him that he thought they were nice.

“You’ve never ridden a horse?” the _Tjaty_ questions in shock, now turned fully in his chair to face Iwaizumi, his documents and quill forgotten.

“Not all of us grew up in luxurious palaces able to afford horses to ride,” Iwaizumi can’t help but retort. “So no, I’ve never ridden a horse.”

Oikawa stands abruptly, muttering something about finding Kunimi. “Come, Iwa-chan.”

“Where are we going?” Iwaizumi asks. He knows the answer, he just feels the need to prove his suspicions right.

“To go ride my horses. Where else would we be going, Iwa-chan?”

“Just minutes ago you were complaining about having too much work to do. If you have too much work to properly rest, then you have too much work to go riding,” Iwaizumi points out, not caring that he’s overstepping by trying to tell his master what he should and should not be doing.

Oikawa finds Kunimi outside his rooms and calls for him to fetch Yahaba. With that taken care of, he turns to Iwaizumi with a smirk. “Ya-chan can handle my work if it’s not for too long,” he says simply. “I need to show you what you’ve been missing.”

“What I’m-”

Iwaizumi doesn’t get the chance to finish. Oikawa disappears out of the rooms and Iwaizumi is forced to follow after him. He follows the _Tjaty_ heir out to the stables, and watches from a safe distance as Oikawa removes two horses from their stalls. He brushes them down and puts saddles on their backs, and Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa would notice if he were to slip away back to the palace. But despite his reservations, he sticks around, letting Oikawa give him a hand up onto the back of the horse.

Iwaizumi does not show fear. Not when his father was dying and he knew he would have to step into his shoes and care for his family. Not when slave traders showed up at his house and dragged him away. Not when he faced a glowering man yielding a whip as he was bound to a post. So he definitely won’t show fear while sitting atop this snorting, pawing beast.

“Are you sure about this, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi questions, looking down at the thin strips of leather clutched tightly in each fist. He’s supposed to control this beast that weighs five times his weight with just these tiny little strips of leather? And no, he does not slip up on the _Tjaty’s_ titles and accidentally call him by his name due to fear. “We really do have a lot of work we should be doing.”

“It’s fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa assures him as he swings up into the saddle of his own mount. He pats fondly at the horse’s neck as he turns a dazzling smile onto Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi is a little startled by the smile, not once having seen the heir look nearly this happy since his arrival at the palace. Perhaps, then, this will be worth it, if it makes Oikawa this happy and distracts him from the hell that is his political life. “We’ll only be out for a little while, and Ya-chan can handle my work in the meantime.”

Iwaizumi nods, looking down at his horse as its head snaps up to watch Oikawa’s horse approach. This animal is far too hyperactive for Iwaizumi’s taste, but he swallows down any further protests. Oikawa pulls his horse to a stop beside Iwaizumi’s and reaches over to adjust Iwaizumi’s grip on the reins. He quickly runs through the animal’s commands, how to get it to move forward, to stop, to turn, and a couple of other things that go completely over Iwaizumi’s head. But Iwaizumi listens carefully and frantically takes mental notes. He’s still not confident in his abilities to adequately handle this half ton beast, but he’ll try his best as long as it makes Oikawa happy.

The thought rings loudly through Iwaizumi’s head. Why does he care if this man is happy? Of course, a slave’s life is a little easier when his master is happy, but since when did Iwaizumi care about keeping his master happy? So what if he’s going through a really shitty point in his life right now? So is Iwaizumi. At least the _Tjaty_ still has his freedom. At least he hasn’t been strapped to a lashing post- twice- and had the skin nearly flayed from his back.

“I still think this is a shitty idea, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

Oikawa is still sitting close to Iwaizumi, close enough for him to easily reach across the distance and slap his mouthy slave. Iwaizumi even tenses for the hit, or at least for an onslaught of angry words. But no such backlash comes. Instead, the heir laughs, his grin only growing.

“That’s because we haven’t done anything yet,” he smirks, spinning his horse around to face the open gate along the back wall of the compound. “Try to keep up, Iwa-chan! Oh, and also try not to fall off.”

There is no time for Iwaizumi to even choke on a protest. Oikawa has already driven his heels into the sides of his horse, the animal lunging forward at an alarmingly fast pace. With a curse and before Iwaizumi can change his mind about humoring Oikawa, Iwaizumi offers his own mount a hesitant kick and follows after the _Tjaty_.

Oikawa is all smiles, galloping circles around Iwaizumi as they ride through the flat expanse of empty land extending behind the _Tjaty_ palace. Being out in the privacy of the outskirts of the city, there is plenty of room for them to ride in, to stretch their horse’s legs and push them to fast paces. And Oikawa takes full advantage of this, as Iwaizumi is sure he does regularly. At least, before his father fell sick and left all his responsibilities on his son’s shoulders.

It amazes Iwaizumi to be reminded of how young the _Tjaty_ heir is. He’s marveled over it before, but every time it becomes apparent like this, it never ceases to strike Iwaizumi. Sometimes, when he’s dressed up in his _nemes_ and his _wesekh_ and his armbands and his kohl, Iwaizumi forgets that he’s only about Iwaizumi’s age, and not the mature political leader he’s attempting to be. He watches Oikawa gallop his horse in aimless patterns, kicking up dust and dirt, laughing and cooing to his horse, the wind blowing through his soft locks, and finds himself thinking that _this_ is how Oikawa should always be. He should always be carefree and happy like this, not exhausted and bearing the weight of an entire empire on his shoulders.

Unfortunately, they can’t stay out on the horses for long. Even if Oikawa didn’t have mountains of work to return to, Iwaizumi isn’t sure he could last much longer anyway, the movements of the horse pulling at the wounds still healing across his back. The twinge of the lashes brings back a resentment towards the heir he had almost forgotten. It doesn’t burn hot like it did weeks ago, but it is still there. Though it’s not the only resentment he holds towards Oikawa, and not as strong as the resentment of being caged here in this palace.

It had crossed his mind more than once to simply take off with the _Tjaty’s_ horse, to run it until it couldn’t run anymore. Or if he didn’t push the horse too hard once he got out of the city, the animal could probably take him all the way to Israel. But he doubts the heir would just let him go, and he would probably do more to ensure the return of his horse than the return of his slave. Besides, Iwaizumi relents as they walk back through the gates and into the palace courtyard, he’s not sure the heir would survive without Iwaizumi’s assistance. He is barely surviving now as it is.

Yahaba doesn’t seem too upset with Oikawa for dumping his work onto the Master of the House’s lap, and Iwaizumi gets the feeling that he’d take on much more of Oikawa’s responsibilities if the heir would let him. He does seem to really care for the _Tjaty_ , if his mothering is anything to go by.

“Oh, and don’t forget, you have a meeting with the representative from Greece next week,” Yahaba reminds him, pausing in the doorway to Oikawa’s rooms.

Yahaba doesn’t receive an answer from the heir. Rather, Oikawa drops his head onto his desk alarmingly hard with a loud groan.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” Yahaba says, and Iwaizumi can tell he’s fighting a smirk. “But this is a serious matter, so you really should be preparing.”

Oikawa doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t even respond, unless his whine counts. Yahaba rolls his eyes at the heir and leaves the room. Iwaizumi fights an eye roll of his own at Oikawa’s childish behavior and gets to work on the paperwork they had left in favor of going horseback riding.

Eventually, Oikawa lifts his head from the desk, swatting a piece of parchment off his forehead. It flutters back to the desk as the heir turns to regard Iwaizumi. “How would you like to attend that meeting with me?” he question. His brow is slightly creased, one corner of his lips pulled down, and his tone is straight-forward, lacking its usually light playfulness. He’s scheming.

“I didn’t think someone like me would be allowed to attend such a meeting,” Iwaizumi points out, not halting in his work. Despite his wording, Iwaizumi knows that slaves aren’t allowed in meetings like these. They’re highly sensitive and to be held among elite members of society only.

“Oh, yes, the Greeks will be appalled to see you in the meeting room. Insulted even,” Oikawa says. “Iwa-chan, don’t think I’m inviting you for your ability to speak that hideous snake language. I’m inviting you solely to upset those olive-popping, pig-nosed fuckers. Although your Greek abilities may be useful for that as well.”

Iwaizumi does stop his work then, turning his wide eyes onto Oikawa. He knew the Egyptians have always had a rather rocky relationship with the Greeks, but he didn’t realize just how bad it was. He’s shocked with Oikawa’s language. It seems a little extreme to him. But when the surprise fades, his expression falls into a hard glare.

“I’m not going to insult them in their native tongue for you, Shittykawa.”


	5. Tricks

“Hold on, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi stops, taking a few steps back to peer around the corner he had just rounded. Yahaba is approaching him, reading over a few papers in his hand. When he reaches Iwaizumi, he looks up.

“I’m going to have you assist Kyoutani in the yard today. The young lord has that meeting with the Greek representatives this morning, and he’s going to be held up most of the day.”

“The _Tjaty_ asked me to accompany him to the meeting,” Iwaizumi informs him.

“Oh, you must’ve misheard him,” Yahaba quickly dismisses. “Slaves aren’t allowed to attend meetings such as these. There is nothing ruder Tooru could do than- Oh.”

Iwaizumi nods, unable to help the small smile that starts to pull at his lips.

“Okay, well, hurry out to the yard before he spots you. If I can get him into that room before he sees you then-”

“Iwa-chan!” an obnoxiously familiar voice carries down the hall. “Hurry up, you’re going to make me late! Actually, on second thought, take your time.”

Yahaba exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just go,” he sighs, dismissing Iwaizumi with a flick of his wrist. “When the Greeks throw you out of the meeting room in a fit of rage, go find Kyoutani in the yard.”

“Yes, sir,” Iwaizumi says, still smiling.

He turns on his sandaled heel and hurries down the hall in the direction Oikawa’s voice had echoed from. If Iwaizumi is being honest with himself, he’s actually excited to attend this meeting. Something he’d never, _ever_ tell Oikawa, is that whenever he’s asked to assist with the paperwork for international trades and policies and agreements, he enjoys it much more than he probably should. He’s always enjoyed international relations, studying the cultures and history of other kingdoms. It’s why he pressed his father to teach him so many languages. He always thought he’d be an ambassador one day, maybe for his home country of Israel despite it being under Egyptian rule. Getting to look over and write up documents for trade with other kingdoms was one thing, but getting to attend a diplomatic meeting between the leading political force of Egypt and representatives of the great empire of Greece? It’s going to be hard not to let the heir see how much he’ll be enjoying this.

His one regret is that he’s witnessing this as a slave. His dreams have always been to be in this exact position, only as a participating party with a voice at the table. But today he’ll be observing, silent and mostly unwanted, a slave of the _Tjaty_ household.

He catches up to Oikawa after rounding another corner. The heir is walking at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back as he observes the colorful flowers blooming out the open air windows along the far wall. When Iwaizumi falls into step just behind the _Tjaty_ , he picks up his pace. As they walk, Oikawa adjusts his _wesekh_ against his chest and his _nemes_ covering his hair.

“Your kohl is smeared,” Iwaizumi points out as the heir reaches for the handles to a pair of ornately carved double doors.

Iwaizumi hears the small intake of breath as Oikawa spins around. “Really?! Where?”

“Where do you think?” Iwaizumi snorts. “Near your eye.”

“Okay but _which_ eye? I have two of them, you know,” Oikawa huffs, not seeming to care at all about Iwaizumi’s taunting tone. In the last few weeks Oikawa has let Iwaizumi get away with a lot of shit that he’s sure slaves in other households would be killed for. His lack of punishment towards such acts has stopped surprising Iwaizumi at this point, but he’s not stupid enough to push it further, to see just how much the _Tjaty_ will let him get away with. “Whatever, just fix it.”

“What? I can’t fix it,” Iwaizumi balks.

“Iwa-chan,” he whines. “I can’t go in there looking like a fool. _They’re_ the ones that I’m going to make look like fools. I need to be completely composed. Beautiful. Intimidating. Beautifully intimidating. …intimidatingly beautiful?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, grabbing Oikawa’s shoulder and pulling him closer. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that the _Tjaty_ shouldn’t be allowing a slave to handle him in such ways. Instead he focuses on the smudge of kohl just to the outside of his left eye. It takes a few swipes of his thumb, but he manages to brush away the smudged kohl and leave a line that- as long as no one gets too close- appears straight.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, flashing his dazzling smile and turning to reach for the doors again.

Iwaizumi just nods. Something funny is happening in his chest, and he can’t quite figure out why his heart is suddenly racing. He knew he’d be excited to sit in on this meeting, but he didn’t realize he’d be this excited.

The two Greek representatives are already in the room when they enter, seated at the table and talking between themselves. Another man, dressed in a white _shendyt_ and obviously Egyptian, is seated across from them. He says a few words in Greek to the representatives, and Iwaizumi assumes that he must be the interpreter.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Oikawa announces as he strides into the room. Iwaizumi pauses at the door, a little hesitant to make his presence known. “I had important _Tjaty_ things to attend to. How are you gentlemen?”

“We are tired from the, erm, the long journey,” one of the Greeks responds in halting Egyptian. “And we were, erm….” He hesitates, then says a few words in Greek. _“We were expecting the actual Tjaty.”_

“They were expecting your father,” the translator offers, and Iwaizumi decides that perhaps it’s a good thing Oikawa has an official translator. Iwaizumi would’ve translated word for word and probably ended up pissing Oikawa off.

“Ah, well, he’s unable to attend this meeting. Even more important _Tjaty_ things to attend to. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me,” Oikawa says. If only they knew how mutual the disappointment was.

The interpreter translates as Oikawa speaks, and the Greeks nod. They almost seem relieved, and one turns to the other to say, _“That will make this all the easier.”_ The statement confuses Iwaizumi, but he decides to ignore it.

Oikawa sits at the table, then looks around in confusion. When he spots Iwaizumi still lingering at the doors, he motions for him to step inside. Iwaizumi does so, and the reactions from the Greeks are immediate.

_“What is that thing doing here?”_

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer the question himself, although he easily could. He may push his boundaries with Oikawa, but he knows when to recognize the time and place for such behavior. Here is neither the time nor the place. He’s a slave, and the _Tjaty_ has a reputation to uphold, no matter how hard he’s trying to destroy it by inviting Iwaizumi here in the first place. So Iwaizumi keeps his mouth shut and lets the interpreter translate.

“He will simply be observing, don’t mind him,” Oikawa quickly dismisses, as if the Greeks were only mildly curious as opposed to completely offended. “We’re here to discuss the trade of goods between our empires, not my company, so could we please get this meeting started?”

The Greeks stare a moment longer, then murmur between themselves, words too quiet for Iwaizumi to pick up. Eventually, they relent and immediately start to dive into the terms of the proposed trade. Iwaizumi already knows the gist of what this meeting is going to be about. Oikawa has been exchanging letters with the Greek Emperor- or rather someone from his council, someone of equal standing as Oikawa- for a few days about this meeting and Iwaizumi read one of the letters while Oikawa was out. Despite this, Iwaizumi still pays rapt attention to the back and forth negotiations between Oikawa and the representatives.

Documents from the representatives are produced, all in Greek, and presented to Oikawa. The Greeks explain the main points of the agreement, the interpreter offering the translations. Oikawa doesn’t pretend to scan the documents, doesn’t pretend to be at all literate in the Greek language. He just listens to the interpreter.

_“There is nothing changed here from your earlier negotiations with the Emperor. All of the previously agreed upon terms are written out here,”_ one of the representatives says, the interpreter translating to Oikawa and pointing out the places in the document so the _Tjaty_ can follow along. _“As agreed upon, we will pay three hundred silver pieces per wagon of cotton. No more than four dozen wagons a week.”_

Iwaizumi moves closer to Oikawa so he can read the papers over his shoulder. Something about the behavior of these men puts Iwaizumi on edge. And the translator hasn’t addressed the few lines at the bottom of the agreement. Iwaizumi skims them quickly as Oikawa reaches for the offered quill and ink. Just as Oikawa is lowering the quill to the parchment to sign his name and agree to the terms, Iwaizumi reaches out and snags his wrist.

There’s a shocked gasp from one of the Greeks, and all four pairs of eyes turn to him. Only Oikawa’s eyes are curious, the others’ a mix of shock and outrage.

_“How dare he!”_ one of the Greeks exclaims, as if Iwaizumi had grabbed his wrist rather than Oikawa’s.

“What is it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa questions, looking back down at the document his hand is hovering over. Iwaizumi doesn’t release his wrist.

“Did your correspondence with the Greek Emperor mention an additional trade tax, My Lord?” Iwaizumi asks.

“No, it did not…” Oikawa murmurs, looking back down at the papers in front of him.

“How much did they offer you to mistranslate the terms?” Iwaizumi asks, turning to the interpreter.

“What?” he gasps, looking around nervously. “I don’t know what-”

“This addendum at the end that you neglected to point out to the _Tjaty_ ,” Iwaizumi says. He releases Oikawa’s wrist and points to a line of text. “Right here, where it says ‘a trade tax of one hundred silvers per wagon is to be paid to the owner of the lands of which the trade route passes through, Representative Markos’.” Iwaizumi looks between the two representatives, easily flipping from Egyptian to Greek. “ _One of you, I presume? When did you add this addendum? In the wagon on the way here? The forgery work is rather sloppy. It doesn’t quite match the rest of the text_.”

_“You can read Greek?”_ one of the representative exclaims, staring at Iwaizumi in shock.

“H-He’s clearly lying, My Lord,” the translator stutters. “Why would I purposely mistranslate-”

“Get out. I’ll deal with you later,” Oikawa demands, his voice low and hard. His hands are clenched into fists on his lap, the ink from the quill he’s still grasping dripping onto his _shendyt_.

“But, My Lord-”

“Get out!”

The translator shuts his mouth with an audible click and gets to his feet. He bows low to the _Tjaty_ , then hurries from the room. Oikawa slams the quill down on the table and gets to his feet, his eyes hard and fixated on the Greeks. He picks up the documents from the table and rips them in half to the astonished gaping of the representatives. Letting the pieces flutter back onto the table, he turns for the door.

“Iwa-chan, tell them to tell the Emperor that he can shove his trade agreement up the asses of his thieving representatives. And tell them to get the fuck out of my palace.” And then he’s gone, the door slamming closed behind him.

Iwaizumi frowns after him before turning to regard the representatives. _“Please tell your Emperor that the Tjaty will be open to drafting a new agreement under the supervision of new representation. If you’ll wait here, someone will be along to escort you out.”_

With that said, Iwaizumi hurries from the room, wanting to make sure Oikawa is alright, and runs squarely into Yahaba who had been rounding the corner. He reaches out to grab the Master of the House’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over.

“What’s going on? Oikawa just stormed down the hall and he looked pissed,” Yahaba questions.

“They tried to cheat the young lord,” Iwaizumi explains briefly. He doesn’t think Oikawa should be alone right now and is eager to follow after him. “I don’t know what they promised the translator to follow along with their plans, but they tried to sneak a hastily added trade tax into the previously arranged agreement. I managed to catch it before Oikawa signed anything, but he was still quite angry.”

“You can read Greek?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him in exasperation. “Right, not important. I’ll deal with the representatives, and Kyoutani already caught the interpreter trying to race out of the palace. It was mildly suspicious, so I had him restrained. Thank you, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi nods, then hurries past Yahaba and down the hall in the direction of the _Tjaty’s_ rooms. He doesn’t stop to knock, deciding he’ll deal with the consequences for barging in unannounced later. Oikawa isn’t in the front room, but Iwaizumi knows that he did come back here. His _nemes_ is in a crumpled pile on the floor, and a vase that had been on the low table is smashed to pieces on the ground next to it, water collecting in pools beneath the shards and abused flowers.

Iwaizumi follows the carnage to Oikawa’s bedroom. There, he hesitates, knocking softly on the archway before rounding the corner. Oikawa is there, standing on the tile and staring at the portrait of his mother. His hands are clenched into fists at his side and quivering, and Iwaizumi can see the muscles in his jaw straining.

“Do I appear incompetent?” the heir suddenly asks, shattering the tense silence.

“No, My Lord,” Iwaizumi answers truthfully. A joke, a taunt had jumped immediately to his tongue, but now isn’t the time, and Iwaizumi can recognize that.

“Do I look like an idiot?” he asks next, not tearing his eyes from the portrait.

“No, My Lord.”

“Then what is it about me? What makes people take one look at me and decide that I don’t need to be taken seriously?” Oikawa demands, and his voice starts to shake ever so slightly. Iwaizumi is afraid he might start crying. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to comfort someone who’s crying.

“To be honest, My Lord, I believe those men would’ve attempted the same scam with your father. It looked like they had planned this ahead,” Iwaizumi offers.

“It’s not just them though,” Oikawa snaps. “Every day I go to these meetings, and every day I get silenced, shut down, pushed aside, ignored. Every day I work so hard, I do the best I can and then some, I push myself to the point… to the point of fucking _collapsing_ , trying so hard to impress them, to show them all that I can do this, that I can take my father’s place, but I’m not good enough. I’m never good enough. Hell, I’m already fucking doing it and nobody even knows, but I’m still not good enough. For months, I’ve been carrying all the weight of the _Tjaty_ title all by myself, and what do I have to show for it? A failed trade agreement and the disrespect of my _equals_ , of arrogant, snobby, pompous nobles.”

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa rant. He needs to get it out. It’s obvious he’s been carrying this burden, this anger and frustration, for quite a while. And it’s best that he releases it and lashes out here, in front of his slave, rather than in a room full of these ‘arrogant, snobby, pompous nobles’.

“You do realize you just described yourself,” Iwaizumi points out, unable to help but offer a joke to try and ease the tense air.

It’s dead silent for a long moment and Iwaizumi holds his breath as he waits to see how the joke will be received. But then Oikawa laughs. It starts off as a snort, an amused sound in the back of his throat, but then it starts to grow into a full laugh, ringing through the entire room. Oikawa ducks his head, arms holding his stomach, as he laughs and laughs. Iwaizumi starts to wonder if he’s gone crazy from sleep deprivation or something, but Iwaizumi can practically feel his frustration fading as he laughs, so he knows this must be good for him. When he straightens, his laugh fading and tears running down his cheeks, he turns to look at Iwaizumi for the first time since he had entered the room.

“I guess I did, didn’t I?” he chuckles. The heir wipes the tears from his eyes, then whines. “Iwa-chan! You made me ruin my kohl!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the pout. “Get some rest, Shittykawa. Lord knows it’s been months since you’ve gotten a proper rest.”

“I am kind of tired,” Oikawa admits, shooting a longing glance at his bed.

“I bet,” is all Iwaizumi says to that, biting his tongue against any harsher retorts. He turns to head back into the front room. “Don’t worry about your work, I’ll take care of as much as possible.”

“Thanks Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, and Iwaizumi’s steps hesitate. He doesn’t turn back to look at the _Tjaty._ “And not just for this, or for saving my ass in that meeting room. But for everything. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Iwaizumi can’t turn, can’t let Oikawa see how much those words get to him. Instead, he clenches his fists and continues towards the front room. “No need to thank me. Just doing what you bought me for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My finals are done (yaaay!) so updates should be back to every day for at least the next few days. There probably won't be an update on Saturday because I'm moving out of my apartment, and then next Wednesday I'm flying to the east coast for a week and won't be updating at all while I'm there


	6. Miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I'M SO SORRY. I've been really busy these last couple of days and I really dropped the ball on updating this fic. I'm sorry about that. Especially since, starting Wednesday, updates may be erratic or even non existent until the following Wednesday as I'll be out of town. Sorry guys!

There’s a knock on the doors to the _Tjaty’s_ rooms many hours later. Iwaizumi stands from the desk with a glance at the doorway to Oikawa’s bedroom. The _Tjaty_ doesn’t emerge, so Iwaizumi assumes he’s still asleep. Iwaizumi answers the door and motions for Yahaba to enter.

“I take it the situation has been dealt with?” Iwaizumi questions.

Yahaba nods. “The Greek representatives have been sent home, and I dismissed the interpreter from our services. He’s lucky we don’t have him reported for conspiring to defraud the _Pharaoh_. But in reality, the young lord is even luckier that you were there to catch this. I’m loathe to think of what might’ve happened if he had allowed such a thing to occur. The _Pharaoh_ wouldn’t be happy.” Yahaba pauses to look around. “Where is he?”

“Sleeping,” Iwaizumi tells him, heading back to the desk. Yahaba’s eyes widen as he follows and takes a seat beside Iwaizumi.

“For how long?”

“When he got back to his rooms, he vented for a while and let off some steam, then I convinced him to rest. That was many hours ago and it would appear he’s still asleep.”

“I’ve been trying to convince him to rest, to take care of himself, for months now, but he’s a stubborn little shit. How did you manage?”

“I promised him I’d work while he rested,” Iwaizumi answers. “If you’d like to help, I’m sure he’d be even more pleased.”

Yahaba nods and looks over the mess of papers covering the desk in front of him. He eases the draft of a speech out from under the stack and picks up a quill to begin making edits.

“You know, Iwaizumi,” Yahaba says after a long period of silence. “You’ve been really good for Tooru. In more ways than I could’ve ever anticipated. Not only have you excelled at what you were needed for, but you’ve proved to be a good friend for him. He acts differently around you. You’re a good outlet for him.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I wouldn’t call him my friend. He is my master, and I am his slave. I’m only here because he purchased me. That’s not exactly what I would call friendship.”

“Ah, of course, you are right. How foolish for me to presume…” Yahaba murmurs, quickly looking down at the speech and fiddling with his quill. “Actually…. There’s something you should know….”

Before Yahaba can continue, there’s a crash followed by a pained yelp from the bedroom. Iwaizumi gets to his feet quickly, startled by the sudden loud noise, but he doesn’t move from the desk. It’s only a moment later that Oikawa stumbles out of his room, straightening his _shendyt_ on his hips. His hair is pressed flat on the left side of his head and Iwaizumi fights the urge to laugh. His eyes are still a little dazed, as if he just woke from a deep sleep.

“Iwa-chan, it’s dark outside! How long was I asleep?” he questions, rubbing at his face. “You said you were just going to let me rest for a little while, not let me actually _sleep_.”

“I said no such thing,” Iwaizumi points out, taking his seat again at the desk. “You needed the sleep, Shittykawa, be grateful.”

Yahaba’s eyes widen and he looks between Iwaizumi and Oikawa, presumably waiting for a reaction to the nickname from the _Tjaty_ that isn’t going to come.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, making his way over to the desk. “Move, Ya-chan, you’re in my seat.”

“Incredible,” Yahaba breathes as he vacates the chair.

“Sorry, Yahaba, what were you going to tell me before we were so rudely interrupted?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Hey!” Oikawa snorts indignantly.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Yahaba says with a smile Iwaizumi can tell is forced. “I should get going now. Don’t work yourself too hard, My Lord. And you did good today, Iwaizumi, thank you.”

…

The next few weeks prove to be a nightmare for the _Tjaty_. With the deal with the Greeks falling through, Oikawa has a lot to answer for and a lot of promises to make. It helped when he explained to the _Pharaoh_ that the representatives of the Emperor had tried to defraud the _Pharaoh_ , but that doesn’t change the fact that Oikawa now has to try and rework another deal. It was a relief when a letter arrived from the Greek Emperor apologizing for the misbehavior of his representatives. The heir wasn’t sure if the letter was genuine, or if the Emperor had actually known what his representatives would do. But regardless, the promise that a proper agreement would be rewritten did a lot to ease Oikawa’s stress.

It also means that Oikawa has a lot of extra work to do. Iwaizumi helps where he can, but there are some things that need to be done by the _Tjaty_ himself. That doesn’t stop Iwaizumi from doing some of those tasks himself when Oikawa is otherwise preoccupied in meetings or elsewhere. And he never gets angry or punishes Iwaizumi for taking these liberties whenever he returns to find these things done, knowing that Iwaizumi must’ve been the one to do them. Instead he tries not to show Iwaizumi how relieved he is, although most times Iwaizumi is able to see right through it.

Aside from helping him with his duties, Iwaizumi has also managed to convince the young _Tjaty_ that he needs to get more rest. Usually all that consists of is Iwaizumi telling him he should just rest his eyes for a few minutes. Oikawa usually falls for that, and the moment his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, just like Iwaizumi knew he would be. And with these tactics, Oikawa will usually get a few hours of sleep before he wakes and chews Iwaizumi out. But every time it’s half-hearted at best, and the next time he falls for it again. Perhaps the _Tjaty_ is starting to realize that, now that Iwaizumi is there to pick up the slack, he can afford to get more sleep without falling behind, and that when he does get a decent amount of sleep, he’s able to think and focus much better.

Even though it’s been a couple of weeks- and a couple of stressful weeks at that- Iwaizumi is starting to see a drastic improvement in the _Tjaty_. He doesn’t appear completely drained all the time. He’s more upbeat, he has more energy, and he doesn’t look like he’s constantly on the verge of collapsing. It pleases Iwaizumi, only in that he doesn’t have to deal with a tired and grumpy Oikawa all the time.

Iwaizumi looks up as Oikawa steps out of his bedchambers, his arms stretched above his head as he yawns. He glances out the window at the colorful gardens cast in the harsh light of the setting sun before he makes his way over to the desk where Iwaizumi has been seated all day.

“Where were we?” he hums, his voice still a little thick with sleep. There are a few wrinkles on his cheek from where it had been pressed into the fabric of his pillow.

Iwaizumi hands him a few papers. “I finished editing and rewriting the trade contract with the farmers south, all it needs is your signature and seal. I also completely rewrote the announcement you were writing for the _Pharaoh_. I know I’ve told you this before but I’ll say it again: you’re shit with words, Shittykawa, at least when you’re trying to appeal to the masses. You should study the way your father used to write speeches. He had a way of resonating with the people. Anyways, the finances are up to date and, miraculously, the _Paraoh_ managed to stay in budget these last few weeks. Oh, and a letter came for you from the Greek council, they’re arranging to have a new envoy sent to get the agreement signed and underway.”

“Wow, that was most of what I needed to do today,” Oikawa hums, folding his hands behind his head. “You’re a life saver, Iwa-chan. Maybe I can even go get a few more hours of sleep.”

“ _Or_ ,” Iwaizumi cuts in, shoving a new stack of papers towards the _Tjaty_ , “you could get started on all the paperwork you’ve been putting aside for months claiming that it’s ‘not high priority’. Right now, it’s the highest priority, so get started.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines, but then turns a challenging look on Iwaizumi. “What if I had wanted to go visit my father instead?”

“Do you want to go visit your father?” Iwaizumi immediately shoots back, matching Oikawa’s challenging stare.

It’s quiet for a minute, neither one breaking their gazes, but then Oikawa exhales and turns to the stack of papers. “No…” he murmurs.

“I didn’t think so,” Iwaizumi says. “You forget that I know you better than you know yourself, Oikawa.”

Oikawa smiles as his quill starts to scratch across the top document of the stack. “I guess I can’t really deny that. I really am lucky you decided to stay. I’ve never really expressed how grateful I am for that, but I really am grateful.”

“What in the Lord’s name are you talking about, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi snorts. “You know damned well that I didn’t decide shit.”

“Well, not at first, no,” the heir concedes, sounding slightly confused. “I meant, after I collapsed, when I told Yahaba to free you.”

Iwaizumi’s quill freezes on the parchment, and he swears his heart stops beating. It’s a long moment of trying to force oxygen into his lungs before he’s able to turn and meet the _Tjaty’s_ confused stare.

“You…” Iwaizumi starts to say, but the words catch in his throat. His whole body is starting to thrum with an anger he knows he won’t be able to contain. “You did _what_?”

Suddenly everything seems to click in Oikawa’s head and his eyes widen, his face going pale. “He never told you…” he breathes.

That’s all Iwaizumi needs to hear. He’s shooting to his feet, his chair toppling back onto the hard tile. He hears Oikawa calling after him, but his words are lost in the deafening ringing in his ears. He’s throwing open the doors to the _Tjaty’s_ rooms and striding out into the halls. He knows Oikawa is following him, but the heir must know better than to try and stop Iwaizumi.

He must be exuding anger, because everyone hastily moves out of his way, or stops and stares, as he marches down the hallways. His fists are shaking at his sides, he’s breathing hard, and red is starting to tint the edges of his vision. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he finds Yahaba, but he’ll figure it out when he does.

He rounds the corner, nearing the slave quarters, and he catches sight of that light brown head of hair. He’s talking with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and looks up when he catches sight of Iwaizumi and the _Tjaty_ right behind him.

“Iwaizumi, what-” he starts to say, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let him finish his sentence.

“When were you going to tell me?” Iwaizumi nearly shouts, his voice echoing off the hard tile and clay of the hallway. “When were you going to tell me that I wasn’t a slave anymore? When I stopped being useful? When I stopped serving a purpose?”

Yahaba eyes are wide, panicked, and he starts to back away, but Iwaizumi is faster. “Iwaizumi, please, you need to understand-”

“Understand what?” Iwaizumi snaps. He reaches Yahaba and grabs his arm, throwing him against the wall. “What do I need to understand? That you kept me falsely enslaved here for months- for _months_ \- after Oikawa told you to free me?”

Before Yahaba can respond, a strong arm wraps around Iwaizumi’s neck from behind, pulling him off of Yahaba. He’s pulled back, caged against a solid chest, and a look over his shoulder reveals Kyoutani, his naturally hard expression turned harder.

“Don’t you touch him,” he growls at Iwaizumi.

“Let go of me,” Iwaizumi snaps back.

When Kyoutani makes no move to release him, Iwaizumi grabs the arm wrapped around his neck and lurches his weight forward and down. Kyoutani flips over Iwaizumi’s shoulder, landing hard on the tiled floor. Iwaizumi turns his attention back to Yahaba, but Matsukawa and Hanamaki have put themselves in front of the Master of the House.

“Iwaizumi, you need to calm down,” Matsukawa urges, a hand held out in front of him as if approaching a wild animal.

“We know what he did was fucked up,” Hanamaki starts, “but-”

“Move,” Iwaizumi demands, his tone hard and cold as ice. “Or I will move you.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki share a look with each other, but neither makes a move to step aside. Before Iwaizumi can forcefully move them though, Yahaba pushes between the two to face Iwaizumi. He doesn’t appear surprised or afraid anymore. His face is twisted into a look he probably intends to appear confident, sure.

“You need to understand that when I made the decision not to tell you, it wasn’t an easy decision to make, but I knew I had to make it for the sake of the young lord,” Yahaba starts to explain. “Back then, when he told me to free you, you were still new here and you couldn’t see how much of an impact you had on Tooru. He’ll never admit it, but he needs you, Iwaizumi. I was going to tell you eventually, I was just waiting until you could see how much your presence has helped the _Tjaty._ ”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Iwaizumi retorts. “You were never going to tell me.”

Yabaha doesn’t deny it. “You haven’t been working for free though,” he tries to tell Iwaizumi. “As soon as I had made the decision not to tell you, I went back to the slave trader and found out where you were from. It took a lot of digging and searching, but I found your family, and I’ve been sending them your wages. I even sent them back pay for the time you were here before Tooru freed you.”

“You think a little money makes this okay?” Iwaizumi snaps, trying to hide the fact he’s surprised Yahaba did such a thing. He’ll also never admit it, but he’s grateful. Ever since his father died, it’s been hard for his family to make ends meet. He’s grateful that they’ve been getting some help even with him gone. That still doesn’t make up for any of this though.

“No, of course not, I just… I wanted you to know,” Yahaba says, his fake confidence gone as he ducks his head.

Iwaizumi takes a step towards him, but Oikawa suddenly appears between them, his eyes catching Iwaizumi’s and holding them.

“Ya-chan, please bring me the key to his collar,” Oikawa says, his voice calm and quiet. “Mattsun, Makki, please prepare a horse and five days worth of rations.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say a single word to Oikawa as he accepts the horse and rides out of the _Tjaty_ palace. It’s a good horse, the same horse the _Tjaty_ had been riding when he took Iwaizumi riding weeks ago. Iwaizumi will make sure the animal is returned to Oikawa once he gets home. He may be angry, but it’s not necessarily directed towards the _Tjaty._ This isn’t his fault, a little miscommunication aside.

As he travels through the barren desert, away from the great kingdom of Egypt and towards his home, his mind can’t seem to catch up. It’s still stuck back in the _Tjaty’s_ palace. He feels like he should’ve said something to Oikawa. Perhaps thanking him for releasing him, despite the complications surrounding the deed. Perhaps he should’ve thanked Oikawa for treating him better than probably any slave has ever been treated- of course not including the lashings in his first week. Perhaps he should’ve told Oikawa that he forgives him for that. It’s water long under the bridge. But really, he wishes he had told the damn palace brat to not work himself so hard now that Iwaizumi is gone, that it’s okay for him to seek help elsewhere- as long as it’s not at the slave auction. Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t worry about the heir, that it’s no longer his job to worry, nor was it ever, but he can’t help it. He knows too well what Oikawa is like, and he knows that if he continues on like that, it’ll send him into an early grave.

The journey back to Israel is a little shorter on the horse than it had been being dragged behind a slaver’s caravan, but made longer by his mind that refuses to leave Cairo. By himself and mounted, he can travel much quicker than those wagons and camels. It’s still a long four days before he stumbles into Israel, and another few hours to reach the small farming village just outside of Jerusalem.

His heart is racing as his eyes fall on the small house he grew up in. It’s been so long since he was grabbed on this very road and dragged to Egypt. To some, a few months may not be that long, but Iwaizumi had never spent longer than a night away from this farmhouse, away from his mother and brothers. To finally be back, after such a long, torturous time away, he can feel a swelling of emotions he can’t quite name as he slides down from the horse.

He walks the animal around the house to the pen in the back holding their two milk cows. As he passes by the ends of the long rows of wheat, he keeps an eye out for any of his three brothers. His heart begins to beat a little faster as he leads the horse into the cow pen and drags the tack from its back to leave on the fence for now. Iwaizumi knows it’s foolish to worry, they’re probably out in the field somewhere checking the crop. At this time of the year, it’ll be ready to harvest soon.

He’s halfway to the back door of the small house when a rustling in the stocks catches Iwaizumi’s attention. He turns quickly just as their two dogs come leaping out of the stocks to practically tackle Iwaizumi to the ground. He kneels so that he can wrap an arm around each of their excited bodies as their tongues bathe his face and neck. More rustling in the stocks and Iwaizumi looks up to see one of his younger brothers step out from between two rows. His green eyes- a shade identical to Iwaizumi’s- are wide, disbelieving. He takes a hesitant step forward, those wide eyes roaming up and down Iwaizumi as if trying to assure himself that Iwaizumi is truly standing before him, that it isn’t his mind playing tricks on him.

Neither of them say a word. The distance between them is closed quickly, and they envelop each other in a bone crushing hug. Iwaizumi can feel a wetness on his bare shoulder, and he bites his lip so as to not start crying himself.

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again,” his brother, Ira, murmurs into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, his voice thick.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi murmurs back. He’s not sure what he’s sorry for, but it feels appropriate.

The back door to the house opens, and both brothers pull back from each other. Iwaizumi’s mother is standing in the open doorway, her hands covering her mouth and tears already beginning to stream down her cheeks. Iwaizumi can’t hold back his own tears anymore.

Her knees start to give way and Iwaizumi lurches forward to catch her, both of them ending up sitting in the dirt and clinging to each other. One of her hands comes up to fist in Iwaizumi’s hair, her other clutching at his back.

“Hajime,” she hiccups through her tears, burying her face in his neck.

“I’m home, mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a heck of a time trying to figure out how to group the segments for this chapter and the next chapter. So sorry if it seems awkwardly put together, but it was either this or one giant chapter twice as long as any of the others and that just wouldn't do.


	7. Home

Iwaizumi’s mother brings him inside and urges for Ira to fetch his other two brothers from the field. Farah fusses over Iwaizumi, and her tears start falling again when she sees the mess of scars across his back. He promises her they’re long healed, that they don’t hurt him anymore, which isn’t entirely true, but she doesn’t need to know that. All in all she’s a mess, and she can’t seem to keep her hands off of Iwaizumi, as if her touch is the only thing keeping him there.

She asks him to tell her what happened to him, but he waits until Ira returns with his other two brothers. Mikhah, the youngest, is a bawling mess before he even enters the house, launching himself into Iwaizumi’s arms. Iwaizumi hugs him tightly, murmuring soft words in his ear. It’s weird to be speaking in Arabic again, after spending so long away from it. But it’s his favorite language, the language of his mother, and it was the language he always spoke at home. It’s familiar and comforting, and something he didn’t realize he missed until now.

Azhar, his older brother by only a year, hesitates in the doorway. Being a number of years older than the other two, Iwaizumi and Azhar were always the closest. They did nearly everything together, they were always in sync, and they were the ones the responsibilities fell on when their father died. Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt that Azhar probably felt Iwaizumi’s loss harder than anyone else.

When Mikhah releases Iwaizumi, he doesn’t hesitate to pull Azhar into a tight hug. They hold each other silently for a long minute, both fighting back tears.

“I missed you, Hajime,” he murmurs.

“I missed you too, Azhar,” Iwaizumi returns with a smile.

When they finally pull back from each other, their mother ushers them to the table so that Iwaizumi can finally tell his family what happened to him. He starts from the very beginning, from him getting pulled off the street in the middle of the night as he walked home from town. He tells them about his journey across the desert to Egypt where he was sent to the slave markets. His mother had started crying from nearly the beginning of his story, but her eyes widen when he tells her who purchased him.

“The _Tjaty_ bought you?” she breathes in disbelief.

“Not technically,” Iwaizumi corrects. “The _Tjaty_ heir, his only son. He needed a literate slave to help him with his duties.”

“Bless the Lord, all those silly languages your father insisted on teaching you really helped you after all,” Farah hums. “Lord knows what would’ve become of you if you had ended up on one of their awful construction sites.”

“Forget about that,” Ira says. “How did you manage to escape the _Tjaty’s_ palace?”

“Actually…” Iwaizumi murmurs. “He let me go.”

“He _let you go_?” Azhar nearly exclaims. “What? Why? Why would he do that? He only had you for a few months. Not that I’m complaining, of course, it just seems strange.”

“He actually let me go a long while ago, only a few weeks or so after he purchased me,” Iwaizumi explains. “It was just after he found out I had been kidnapped. He’s… he’s not what you’d think of when you think of Egyptian nobility. He’s actually pretty kind, and I think he really cares, even though he’d never show it.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense, Hajime,” Farah frowns. “Look what he did to your back!”

“That was….” Iwaizumi cuts himself off. There’s no excuse he can give on behalf of Oikawa for that. Just because he’s forgiven the heir for it, it doesn’t make it right, nor does it mean his mother will be as forgiving.

“If he freed you months ago, then why are you just now coming home?” Mikhah asks.

“There was a… complication,” Iwaizumi answers, trying to figure out how best to explain what happened. He decides, after a moment of deliberation, that he just needs to tell them the truth, the whole truth. “First, there’s something you need to know about the _Tjaty_ heir….”

It’s weird explaining Oikawa’s situation to his family, and it feels as if he is violating the heir’s privacy. He decides not to tell them about the _Tjaty’s_ illness, since Oikawa seems pretty adamant about that information not getting out, but he does tell his family about how overworked Oikawa is, the reason he needed someone like Iwaizumi in the first place. Explaining how Yahaba withheld Oikawa’s command from Iwaizumi is a little tricky to do without painting him as a horrible person. Iwaizumi has had plenty of time to reflect on Yahaba’s actions and he has to admit that he doesn’t blame the Master of the House. He really did have the _Tjaty’s_ best interests in mind, and isn’t that his job, after all?

“So you really helped with all of the official documents and stuff?” Ira questions. “I didn’t think a slave would be allowed to read things like that. Isn’t it… I don’t know, confidential?”

“I helped him with a lot of things that I’m pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to show me,” Iwaizumi answers honestly. “But he really needed a lot of help.”

“Why did he need so much help?” Mikhah questions. “Isn’t it his father, the _actual Tjaty,_ that’s supposed to do all that stuff anyway?”

He knows his brother means no offense with his words, but something in Iwaizumi bristles at the inference that Oikawa is not a real _Tjaty._ He doesn’t know why he’d have such a reaction, he’s not the one that should be offended, but he can’t help it. “He has just as many responsibilities as his father, and right now he’s training to take over his father’s position, so he has a lot of duties he wouldn’t normally have.” It’s not technically a lie. He’s simply leaving out that he’s doing _all_ of the _Tjaty’s_ duties on top of his own.

The topic brings back many of the thoughts he had while crossing the desert. He wonders if Oikawa has been getting enough sleep these last few days. Has Yahaba been trying to help him out with his work? Have either of them found a replacement for Iwaizumi? He hopes they have, but at the same time he hopes that they found someone that still holds their own free will, someone that wasn’t purchased in a slave market.

“What was it like being in the _Tjaty_ palace?” Mikhah questions, pulling Iwaizumi out of his thoughts.

He stays up late talking with his family about everything that he did and everything that happened while he was in Egypt. His brothers also share everything that’s happened here while Iwaizumi was gone. And when they all agree to call it a night and resume the conversation tomorrow, Iwaizumi follows Azhar to their shared bedroom and crawls into a comfortingly familiar bed. He listens to Azhar’s breathing even out and can’t help a small smile that pulls at his lips. In the servants’ quarters, it was easy to close his eyes and listen to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s breathing and pretend it was his brothers- that was until Hanamaki started snoring- but it had never quite filled the hollow hole in his chest. This right here is what he had been missing, sleeping in his own bed under his own roof with Azhar just across the small room from him. Comforted by the familiarity of it all, and exhausted from such a long journey, he’s quickly lulled to sleep.

**…**

Iwaizumi flicks a piece of straw from his _simlah_ , leaning back against the wooden siding of the house behind them. He reaches up to adjust his _keffiyeh_ but Azhar reaches over to slap his hand away. A passerby gives them a curious look, but Azhar just offers him a smile with a tip of his head.

“That’s the eighth time in the last hour you’ve adjusted it,” Azhar points out. “Stop messing with it.”

“Sorry, I’m no longer used to them,” Iwaizumi apologizes. “I got too used to wearing that stupid wig. But at least I didn’t have to wear a damn _nemes_ like Oikawa.”

Azhar turns a pointed look at Iwaizumi. “You talk about the _Tjaty_ heir a lot.”

Iwaizumi splutters, nearly falling from the overturned clay pot he’s sitting on. “I do not talk about him a lot.”

“You’ve been home for almost two months now and I don’t think there’s been a single day you didn’t mention him at least once,” Azhar points out.

Iwaizumi frowns, looking back out into the bustling marketplace. It’s early in the day, so the square is crowded with shoppers and merchants alike. Iwaizumi and his brother have been out here since sunup, selling the grain they’ve harvested over the last few weeks. They used to do this together every day, and despite it always being slow and boring, Iwaizumi admits that he’s missed it.

“You enjoyed being with him in that palace, didn’t you?” Azhar questions, apparently not willing to let the subject drop. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell mom if it’s true, but it’s kind of obvious, Hajime.”

“You think I _enjoyed_ being there?” Iwaizumi repeats, trying to keep his voice down. “I was a fucking _slave_ , Azhar. I was bought and sold like livestock. I wasn’t there a full day before being strapped to a lashing post and whipped until I passed out. Yeah, maybe my time there after that was easier than for most slaves, but I was still a _slave._ I was always told where to be, when to eat and sleep, what to do. I was kept there only by the chains that bound me there. I did _not_ enjoy it.”

Azhar shrugs, leaning back against the wall as well. “Okay, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you enjoyed being a slave, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy being with _him_.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s obvious how you feel about him. You’ve been off ever since you returned-”

“I returned from being _forced into slavery_ , Azhar. You ever stop to think I’ve been ‘off’ because I’m, oh I don’t know, _traumatized_?” Iwaizumi interrupts. His brother’s questioning is starting to annoy him.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean that your head isn’t here, Hajime. It’s off somewhere else. And I think it’s still in Egypt, in the _Tjaty_ palace with that heir.”

A customer approaching their small stand is the only thing that keeps Iwaizumi from making a scathing retort. Instead, he lets Azhar handle the transaction while his mind spins in circles. Sure, he’s willing to admit to himself that there hasn’t been a day that he hasn’t wondered how Oikawa was doing, but has he really talked about him with his family as well? How must that look, to listen to your son or brother continuously talk about the master they escaped from? Well he knows how it looks to Azhar, but what Azhar is saying is ridiculous. There’s no way he _enjoyed_ being with that pompous palace brat. Right?

At the end of the day, they’re packing up their small cart, and Iwaizumi’s mind is still racing. The square has mostly emptied out, only a few merchants still set up and a handful of villagers perusing their stalls. Iwaizumi is strapping their cart to the horse- Oikawa’s horse- and trying not to let his mind run away with itself. There’s no way he enjoyed being with Oikawa or in his palace. He was only there, only interacted with the heir, because he was forced to. He was bound to that palace and that brat, forced to do whatever was asked of him. Sure he had it quite easy, but he was still a slave. Nothing Azhar or anyone can say will ever change that.

“… returned from Cairo, and let me tell you, they’re really struggling right now.”

Iwaizumi’s interest piques when he hears the end of the merchant’s sentence. He stops in securing the straps to the horse and looks over to the stall sitting across the small square from them. Another merchant has stopped to talk with the merchant sitting behind the stall.

“What do you mean by struggling?” the second merchant questions, running a polishing rag over a silver plate. “You mean the quality of their markets?”

“No, I mean the kingdom itself,” the first merchant responds. “The _Tjaty_ died about a week ago and the son is struggling to keep the kingdom afloat. I guess the _Pharaoh_ is really coming down hard on him. I almost feel sorry for the kid, being _Tjaty_ is easily a five man job, and he’s doing it all by himself.”

Iwaizumi’s heart is racing in his chest. The frantic beating is almost all he can hear echoing in his ears.

“Wow, if that’s the case, then now would be the time for Israel to start fighting for its independence. You know, if-”

Iwaizumi stops listening. He’s heard all he needs to hear. He turns back to the horse and quickly releases the cart. It falls to the ground with a loud clatter and Iwaizumi grabs the horse’s reins to keep it from bolting at the noise.

“Hajime, what are you doing?” Azhar questions in surprise as Iwaizumi swings up onto the horse, looking over at the chatting merchants. So he heard too. Then he knows. “Come on, Hajime. You’re done with that world. You’re done with the _Tjaty_.”

“He needs my help,” Iwaizumi argues.

Azhar jumps in front of the horse and grabs his reins. “He’s the _Tjaty_ of Egypt! He can find someone else to help him!”

“He won’t, he’s too proud,” Iwaizumi insists. “He needs me, and Egypt needs him. I have to go.”

“Your place is _here_ , Hajime, in Israel, with your family. Not across the desert mixed up in all this political trouble.”

“You don’t understand. Besides, I still have to return his horse.”

Azhar stares at him for a long minute, and Iwaizumi knows exactly what he’s thinking. He’s exasperated, and he knows that Iwaizumi is stubborn as a bull, that when he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it. After a long, tense moment, he exhales sharply and releases the reins.

“Fine, fine, go to Egypt and rescue your damsel in distress-” he presses on, ignoring Iwaizumi’s spluttering retort “-but I’m going with you. Just let me go tell our mother first that we’re running off on a mission to save all of Egypt. Lord, she’s going to kill us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys but this is going to be the last planned update for the next 8 days. I may be able to post a chapter or two in that time, but I won't promise anything. So if not, then enjoy the holidays, and I'll see you again before the new year.


	8. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I managed to get a chapter up! I hope you guys are enjoying your holidays

Iwaizumi’s insistence that they ride as hard as they can without compromising the horses gets them across the desert in only three and a half days. The old horse Azhar bought for a silver from a neighboring farm struggles to keep up with Iwaizumi’s young Arabian, but they make good time nonetheless.

As they ride through the bustling capital, Azhar seems nearly overwhelmed, his eyes constantly flitting across everything around him, struggling to take everything in. He’s never been to Egypt before, let alone the great city of Cairo. Iwaizumi hadn’t either before he was dragged here under the chains of slavery, but at that time he had too much on his mind to marvel at the new sites before him.

Iwaizumi leads Azhar through the sprawling city towards the outskirts where the _Tjaty’s_ palace sits in relative solitude. Azhar pushes his horse closer to Iwaizumi’s as they approach the looming familiar walls.

“Is that it?” Azhar questions, looking around and sounding a little confused.

“Yes. Expecting something different?”

“I expected it to be closer to the _Pharaoh’s_ palace. Isn’t the _Tjaty_ supposed to be the _Pharaoh’s_ primary advisor? You’d think they’d be in closer proximity.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I assure you this is it.”

When the reach the gates, Iwaizumi is nearly amused to see Hanamaki posted out front on guard duty. The brunet does an actual double take when he sees who it is approaching, straightening from his slouched position leaning on the wall to take a few steps forward.

“Iwaizumi?” he questions, as if he can’t quite comprehend Iwaizumi’s presence here at the palace. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to see Oikawa,” he says.

“You must’ve heard about his father,” Hanamaki murmurs. His expression turns serious and it nearly unnerves Iwaizumi. In the entire time he had lived here in this palace, sharing a room with this man, he never once witnessed a serious expression on Hanamaki’s face. “If there’s anything you can do to save the young lord from himself, please do it.”

Iwaizumi just nods. That’s what he’s here to do after all. Hanamaki opens the gates and lets both of them in without a single question in regards to Iwaizumi’s brother. It’s not hard to see the family resemblance between them, Iwaizumi is sure he put two and two together.

They both climb off their horses and lead them along the paths that wind towards the front doors of the palace. A servant comes out to take their horses from them. In the comfortable temperatures of late fall, the front doors sit propped open, and Iwaizumi hurries inside and down the familiar hallways that he didn’t realize he missed. They don’t make it far before they run into another familiar brunet.

“Iwaizumi!” Yahaba gasps. “What… what are you doing here?”

“How is he?” Iwaizumi asks, avoiding the question.

“He’s… well, he’s probably just how you expect him to be. He fell apart when you left, and losing his father has only made it that much worse.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in his rooms. He just returned from a meeting with the _Pharaoh_ , so I expect he’s more drained than normal. I’ll take you to him.”

“I know the way,” Iwaizumi quickly dismisses. He can feel the near palpable tension growing between them, Yahaba’s obvious nervousness at being with Iwaizumi after how they parted, and he’d rather not extend that. “And I’d rather go by myself, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Yahaba murmurs.

“Could you take my brother to get something to eat and drink? We had a long journey,” Iwaizumi requests.

“Of course.”

Iwaizumi nods and starts down the hallway again. He’s only made it a handful of steps before Yahaba calls after him.

“Iwaizumi,” he calls and Iwaizumi stops, but he doesn’t turn around. He knows what Yahaba is going to say. “I’m sorry. What I did was wrong, it was unforgiveable. I understand if you hate me, hate me all you want. But please…. Thank you for coming back. Please be easy on Tooru.”

“I don’t hate you, Yahaba. I understand that what you did, you did for Oikawa. Your loyalty is commendable,” Iwaizumi tells him with sincerity. “And I’ll try to go easy on him, but sometimes it can’t be helped. Sometimes, when he acts like an idiot, he needs a lot more than kind words to steer him in the right direction.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for a response before continuing down the hallway and turning the corner. He follows the familiar hallways, past the indoor courtyard, past many servants he remembers the faces of but not the names, and into a familiar quarters. He doesn’t even stop to knock on the familiar set of grand doors. He pushes them open and steps inside the room he spent so much of his time in only months ago.

The sole occupant of the room startles, a scathing retort starting across his tongue as he stands and whips around to face the uninvited guest. But the words catch behind his lips and his eyes blow wide. The quill clutched in his fingers drops to the floor, leaving a smudge of black ink on the off-white tile.

Iwaizumi had been expecting the worst, but even then he is stunned by what he sees. Oikawa is beyond exhausted, beyond any state he had been in while Iwaizumi was here. His kohl is no longer able to completely hide the dark circles around his eyes. His cheeks are sunken a little, his skin pale, and his hip bones protrude slightly above his _shendyt._ He’s lost a startling amount of weight since Iwaizumi left a few months ago. It would appear that eating has been added to the list of things he doesn’t have time for, right beneath sleeping and giving a shit about his health.

“Iwaizumi?” he breathes, his voice nearly catching on the name.

“You look like shit. Just because I left, didn’t mean you were allowed to stop taking care of yourself like this, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa ignores the statement, instead asking, “Iwa-chan, what are you doing here?” His voice cracks slightly, obviously still shocked by Iwaizumi’s presence in his room.

“I thought I’d come help you, but I’ll leave if you want me to,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing with his thumb to the doors behind him. He meant it as a joke, a jest to lighten the tension in the room, and perhaps as a humorous transition back into the way they were with each other before Iwaizumi left. What he isn’t expecting is Oikawa’s reaction to his joke.

“No!” he shouts, lunging forward a step and reaching out towards Iwaizumi. His eyes are wide, but no longer in shock. He’s panicked. “Please don’t go. I was just…. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Iwaizumi, still surprised by Oikawa’s outburst and his unexpected confession, doesn’t know how to respond. As a result, he ends up blurting out the first thing that pops into his mind: another joke.

“I didn’t plan on ever seeing you again either, but here we are.”

Oikawa nods slowly, and Iwaizumi mentally slaps himself. The _Tjaty_ heir- well no longer the heir, but now the ruling _Tjaty_ \- just lost his only family and simultaneously gained tremendous responsibility. He doesn’t need Iwaizumi to tell jokes at his expense.

Iwaizumi coughs, as if it would help clear the awkwardness, and barrels on. He’s not sure what he was expecting from this reunion, but perhaps he hoped it’d go a little more smoothly than this. “I heard about your father’s passing, and that you’re having problems with the council and the _Pharaoh_. I came back to try and help.”

“But why?” Oikawa suddenly asks. “Why do you care what happens to Egypt? If our kingdom fails, then Israel would become its own independent nation. You’d no longer be under our rule.”

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi snorts. “I don’t give a fuck about Egypt’s state of affairs. What I _do_ care about is you, and what will happen to you if this continues. You know damned well that the _Pharaoh_ isn’t going to let his grand empire fall because of the perceived incompetence of his _Tjaty_. He’ll have you replaced if he thinks you’re a threat to his kingdom. I’m here to try and prevent that from happening.”

“Why?” Oikawa asks again, his voice softer now, and so very fragile. Just the sound of that confused, pained tone pulls at something in Iwaizumi’s chest. “Why do you care if I get removed from this title? Why are you doing this for me? I… I had you enslaved, held here against your will. I had Kyouken nearly flay the skin from your back. And even after I had you released I… I was too naive and greedy to question why you had decided to stay. If I hadn’t been selfish and asked you up front, then I could’ve spared you months of false captivity.” Iwaizumi’s eyes are growing wide at the sudden, heartfelt confession, and at the growing weakness in Oikawa’s voice, at the tears starting to bead at the corners of his eyes. “Why are you here, Iwa-chan? Why did you come back, when you had every reason never to even think about me or this country ever again? You’re supposed to hate me. You’re supposed to forget about me, leave me here to fail and get thrown out onto the street like I deserve. So why-”

Iwaizumi has heard enough. Oikawa’s head is ducked, the heels of his hands rubbing at his watering eyes, smearing kohl everywhere, as his voice stutters over his words. The amount of self-hatred and self-loathing, the utter resignation, in his voice is clearly evident and it’s so much more of an apology than Iwaizumi ever wanted from this pathetic palace brat. He strides forward the few steps necessary to close the distance between them and pulls Oikawa into a strong hug.

Oikawa is startled into silence, his body rigid and his arms trapped between their chests. But then the floodgates he had been trying so hard to keep shut blow open, and he wraps his arms tightly around Iwaizumi’s neck. The solid metal of his _wesekh_ and armbands dig into Iwaizumi’s chest and shoulders, but he hardly notices. All he can focus on is the feeling of Oikawa’s body slumped against his as he stutters sharp breaths through his sobs, the wetness of Oikawa’s tears against the exposed skin of his left shoulder, and how thin he feels wrapped in Iwaizumi’s arms.

“I don’t hate you,” Iwaizumi tells the crying mess in his arms. He can’t really explain why he doesn’t hate Oikawa, because in reality he should. But the _Tjaty_ was never cruel to him, at least not after he thought he had had him freed. Despite that Iwaizumi didn’t know he was free, when he thinks back on that time with Oikawa, he realizes that Oikawa never treated him like a slave. He always treated him as an equal, if not even as a friend. Never did Oikawa use his rank or status over Iwaizumi. There was respect from both parties, and maybe that’s why Iwaizumi is left with very conflicted feelings towards the young _Tjaty_. “I never hated you. I hated my circumstances. But you made them somewhat more bearable. You made a hard and terrible situation a little easier to push through, and so I figured I should return the favor.”

Iwaizumi chews at his lip as another thought pops into his mind. He knows he shouldn’t say it out loud, that he should keep it to himself, but he can’t stop the words from forming on his tongue.

“And try as hard as I might, I couldn’t forget about you, Oikawa. I don’t think I ever could.”

Iwaizumi can feel the _Tjaty_ tense under him at the words. He knew he shouldn’t have said them out loud. He pulls back from the hug and eyes Oikawa’s tear and kohl streaked face. The _Tjaty_ is staring back at him with shock clear as day in his watery brown eyes. Iwaizumi uncomfortably tries to undo his mistake.

“Besides, I still needed to return your horse. Do you know how much feed that animal eats? Nearly broke the bank trying not to let it starve,” Iwaizumi jokes. It does the trick.

Oikawa laughs lightly, lifting his hands to wipe away the wetness from his face. It doesn’t do much good, as the tears are still flowing steadily, but at least he isn’t sobbing anymore.

“You know I trained that horse myself? When I was only a boy,” Oikawa tells him with a sniffle. “It was kind of sad parting with him. But I have to admit that his return was not the one I prayed to the gods for. And it’s not the one that pleases me most.”

Iwaizumi starts to feel an unfamiliar burn in his cheeks and quickly ducks his head, looking anywhere but at the man before him.

“Well, I’m back, just like you wanted. What do you need me to do?” Iwaizumi asks, turning towards the desk. It’s a complete disaster, parchment strewn everywhere and in no discernible order. Iwaizumi starts to sort through them, attempting to determine what is what and what needs his attention the most.

“Oh, uhm,” Oikawa mutters, also turning his attention to the mess on the desk. He sniffles a few more times, wiping at his eyes and attempting to calm himself down so he can get back to work. “My biggest concern right now, the matter the _Pharaoh_ is breathing down my neck to resolve, is the wheat production. For years it’s been declining rapidly, but now we’ve fallen into famine. This last season we didn’t produce nearly enough to feed the general population. The farmers ran out long ago and at this point, the _Pharaoh_ and his nobles are the only households left with wheat remaining in their storehouses. The _Pharaoh_ has begun ordering the distribution of those stores, but our households only have so much, and we can’t feed the entirety of Egypt. The other nobles are reluctant to release their stores, and my household ran out weeks ago. There’s not much more we can do.”

Iwaizumi listens in shock as the _Tjaty_ recounts this current issue. It’s hard for him to believe Egypt is in a wheat famine when- “Why haven’t you approached Israel with a trade agreement?” Iwaizumi questions in disbelief. “Hell, if you’re really that desperate, just order Israel to give up a percentage of their wheat harvest. You do reign over them, after all. Although it would be really nice if you could compensate my people in return.”

“What do you mean?” Oikawa asks in confusion, slowly taking his seat at the desk.

“Do you Egyptians seriously pay no mind to the nations under your control? Do you conquer and forget?” Iwaizumi retorts. He can’t help the steeliness in his voice. How could such a powerful empire like Egypt not realize how many resources it truly has? “Israel’s wheat harvest has been tremendous for the last few years. We have more wheat than we know what to do with. I should know, my family owns a wheat field. When I heard about your pitiful state here, I was sitting in the markets struggling to sell our wheat and grain at half the price we charged only five years ago. Egypt produces a lot of salt, correct? Well I’m sure Israel would be more than willing to trade wheat for salt, if only you’d ask.”

Oikawa stares at the mess on his desk, his mouth slightly agape, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Iwaizumi is just as shocked. He can’t quite understand how something like this could happen. But then Oikawa seems to shake off his surprise and his brow furrows.

“Your first task then, Iwa-chan, is to write up as many letters as you can to the wheat farmers in Israel. Send out messages to them, informing them that any wheat they can supply to Egypt will be rewarded with double its weight in salt. Finally, I have some good news for the _Pharaoh_ ,” he mutters as he pulls out a piece of parchment and starts to scrawl across it with determined movements. “I’m not going to let him take this position from me. I’ll show him how competent I really am.”

Iwaizumi smiles as Oikawa effortlessly slips into his composed, powerful role. That’s the Oikawa he remembers. That’s the Oikawa that will not let his current situation drag him down. That’s the Oikawa that will fight with everything he has to prove everyone who’s ever doubted him wrong. He’s strong, so much stronger than even he realizes, and he’s determined to show all of Egypt just how strong he really is.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa work diligently all through the afternoon, Iwaizumi scrawling countless letters in Hebrew, and Oikawa constantly in and out, sending messengers and arranging for another meeting with the _Pharaoh_. They get a lot done, not only in dealing with the wheat trade, but also managing to square away some of the other things piled up on Oikawa’s desk. They barely scratch the surface of everything that needs to be completed, but at least things are getting done.

After a few hours, there’s a knock on the door and Oikawa gestures for Kunimi to answer it. Yahaba tentatively steps into the room.

“Iwaizumi? I’m sorry to interrupt, but your brother is asking after you,” Yahaba informs him.

Iwaizumi tenses, his quill stilling on the parchment in front of him. He had forgotten that he didn’t come here alone, and he suddenly feels guilty for abandoning his brother in this unfamiliar palace.

Yahaba’s message also catches the _Tjaty’s_ attention and he straightens, turning amused eyes onto Yahaba, and then onto Iwaizumi.

“Brother?” he questions curiously. Iwaizumi doesn’t like the look behind that smirk. It holds too many mischievous intentions.

Iwaizumi turns to Yahaba, completely ignoring Oikawa. “Could you apologize to him and tell him I’ll be out in-”

“Bring him here!” Oikawa interrupts, his smile growing. “I want to meet this brother.” Suddenly Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi with a gasp as Yahaba leaves the room. “Another Iwa-chan,” he breathes in delight.

“I swear to God Shittykawa, if you call him that I _will_ punch you in the mouth. If you think I’m bluffing, try me.”

Oikawa’s smirk doesn’t falter in the slightest as he turns back to his paperwork. “Such a brute, Iwa-chan. Oh, but I supposed if I’m going to be speaking with two Iwa-chans, then I should probably call you by your given name, hm _Hajime_?” Oikawa’s smirk is playful now, with a hint of deviousness as he carefully pronounces every syllable of Iwaizumi’s name.

Iwaizumi can’t even begin to describe the buzz that runs up his spine at hearing his given name lilted like that from Oikawa’s lips. He’s sure that not only his face, but his whole body is flushed as he determinedly focuses on his own paperwork. The tip of his quill drags perhaps a little too harshly across the parchment.

“I’m only kidding, Iwa-chan!” he giggles at Iwaizumi’s stunned response, and Iwaizumi wants to punch him.

It’s only a moment later that another knock sounds on the door. Oikawa excitedly calls for them to come in, and Yahaba enters with Azhar right behind him. Oikawa makes a really embarrassing noise as he jumps to his feet to greet Iwaizumi’s brother, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he follows after him.

“Oh gods you look just like Iwa-chan!” Oikawa coos.

“That’s because he’s my brother, idiot,” Iwaizumi growls. “Azhar, this is _Tjaty_ Oikawa Tooru. Shittykawa, this is my brother, Iwaizumi Azhar.”

Azhar, who had been watching their comfortable exchange with wide eyes, bows low to the _Tjaty._ “It’s an honor to meet you, My Lord. Hajime has told me so much about you,” Azhar says as he straightens.

“Oh has he now?” Oikawa purrs, shooting an amused look at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the flash of dread though, before it’s quickly covered up. “And may I ask what he’s told you about me?”

Iwaizumi elbows him hard in the ribs. “I’ve told him that you’re a spoiled, arrogant, palace brat who’s too stupid to take care of himself, hence me having to drag him all the way across the damn desert to do it for you.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, rubbing at his side.

Iwaizumi ignores him to address his brother. “We still have a lot to do. I apologize for neglecting you, but if you’re bored, perhaps you could ask Matsukawa to show you around the city?”

“Hajime, it’s already nightfall,” Azhar says, pointing to the open window. Sure enough, to Iwaizumi’s surprised, it is in fact after dark. Azhar turns to Oikawa. “I don’t know what you are working on, but perhaps it’s something I can assist with? If you purchased Hajime for his literacy, then I’ll be just as much use to you, sir.”

“That would be fabulous! But you don’t have to assist me if you don’t want to,” Oikawa tells him. “I’m afraid my work is dreadfully boring.”

“He actually does a lot of fascinating work,” Iwaizumi corrects. “Lots of international contacts and trade agreements. A lot of the things that Dad was so intrigued by.”

Iwaizumi watches Azhar’s eyes light up. He’s always had an interest in these kinds of things just as Iwaizumi has. “I’d love to help.”

Yahaba sighs. “If you’re all going to be here working, I may as well join you guys. I’ll have Kunimi bring a few extra chairs.”

The four of them circle the desk when enough chairs are brought. The desk is almost too small for all of them to work comfortably on it, but they manage with only a few accidental knocks of elbows. It doesn’t take long though for concentration on the work at hand to wane. All it takes is for Oikawa to ask one question. “What was Iwa-chan like when he was younger?”, and Azhar is launching into story after story about their time growing up, each story more embarrassing for Iwaizumi than the last.

“So then Hajime stomps up to the house, and he’s _covered_ in mud, all the way up to his chest,” Azhar laughs, and Oikawa’s eyes are full of amusement as he absorbs every word. At first everyone continued working while Azhar told his stories, but now Iwaizumi is the only one still working. Oikawa was quick to lose focus on his paperwork, and when Azhar realized how aptly Oikawa was paying attention to his stories, he started focusing more on talking than writing. Even Yahaba has started paying Azhar too much attention. “Dad asks him what in the Lord’s name he had been doing, and he- hah- he says-”

“Aren’t we all supposed to be working?” Iwaizumi snaps, cutting his brother off.

“Aw, Iwa-chan, he was just getting to the good part!” Oikawa whines.

“You’re the one with a collapsing country to worry about, Shittykawa. We’re all here trying to help you. So why don’t you get back to work?”

“So mean, Iwa-chan,” the _Tjaty_ pouts, but he does get back to work, much to Iwaizumi’s relief. “We’ll continue this conversation at a later time, hm Iwaizumi-kun?”

Azhar shoots Iwaizumi a look. “Of course, but… I’m not sure how much longer we’re staying.... Hajime?”

All eyes are suddenly on Iwaizumi, and he can feel Oikawa tensing beside him. They’re all curious to that answer, and Oikawa is quite visibly worried that Iwaizumi will leave sooner rather than later.

“Well, I came here to help Oikawa try and sort out this mess and retain his title. That won’t happen overnight,” Iwaizumi starts to explain. “I’m sorry Azhar, but you knew what I was getting myself involved with by returning here. You don’t have to stay, but I do. And I don’t know how long I will need to be here. It could be a couple weeks, it could be months. Or longer.”

“Months? _Longer_?” Azhar repeats in astonishment, slipping into Arabic, probably to keep their conversation more private. He doesn’t know that Oikawa can understand Arabic rather well. “Hajime, have you completely forgotten that you have a family? Mother is getting old. She won’t be able to take care of the house by herself for much longer. Ira and Mikhah need us as well. With father gone, who will continue with their studies if not us? We need you _there_ , Hajime. Do you not realize how much we struggled after you left?”

“After I _left_?” Iwaizumi retorts. “You make it sound like I _chose_ to be kidnapped and sold into slavery.”

“My Lord, maybe we should give them some privacy?” Yahaba murmurs nervously to Oikawa.

“No, we’ll take this outside,” Iwaizumi says, standing abruptly from his chair.

Azhar follows as he leaves the _Tjaty’s_ rooms, and the second they’re in the hallway, Azhar’s hand grabs Iwaizumi’s shoulder and spins him to face him.

“This is absolutely ridiculous, Hajime,” Azhar snaps. “When I agreed to come here with you, I thought we’d be here for a few days, a week or two tops. But _months_? Have you lost your mind?”

“I never asked you to come with me,” Iwaizumi retorts. “You were the one that demanded I bring you with me. I need to be here-”

“You keep saying that, but _why_ , Hajime? _Why_ do you need to be here? What can you do that the _Tjaty_ and all his powerful friends can’t?”

“Because he needs me-”

“Mother needs you too. And Ira and Mikhah. They’re your blood, Hajime. Are you really so ready to abandon them?”

“Lord, I’m not abandoning them! It’s only for a few months. And they all have you. Oikawa doesn’t have anyone else. I’m all he has.”

“Open your damn eyes, Hajime! He has a palace full of people! He has probably hundreds of people here to cater to his every need. You are not going to make a difference. But Mother only has us. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see where your loyalties should really lie? Why are you so insistent on being here with that sorry excuse for a-”

“You better weigh your next words very carefully,” Iwaizumi interrupts him. His blood is boiling. Why is he so angry? “That man has been carrying the weight of one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen solely on his own shoulders for _months_ without a single complaint. He just lost his father a couple weeks ago. Surely you remember what that was like? Losing a father? Well he didn’t get to take a break in order to care for or mourn his father like we did. He couldn’t stop running this country just because his father was dying. And now that his father is gone, his burden has only increased. Did you not see him? He’s killing himself because he’s too damned stubborn and insists on carrying out his duties despite them being too much for a single person to reasonably be able to handle. He is so strong and he tries so hardto be what everyone expects from him, but he can’t carry on like this. It will kill him. And I refuse to let that happen. So yes, I will stay here for months, years if I must, to offer him all the help he needs. Because I will never forgive myself if he destroys himself without doing everything I can to stop it.”

They’re quiet for a long minute, both staring hard at the other. Iwaizumi is breathing hard, his heart is racing, a feeling he can’t quite understand welling up in his chest. And when Azhar finally speaks, when he utters a simple “Why?”, that feeling overflows, spilling from his lips to stare Iwaizumi square in the face, forcing him to recognize something he should’ve recognized a long time ago.

“Because I love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on Thursday


	9. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALMOST FORGOT. But it's still Thursday where I am so this isn't late!

The statement hangs heavy in the air between them. Iwaizumi is just as surprised as Azhar to hear that, but he knows with an unsettling certainty that it’s true, and that there is no point in trying to brush it off or deny it. Perhaps he knew for a while, he was just too stubborn or maybe even too inexperienced to acknowledge how he felt about Oikawa. What he doesn’t want to think about is when he started developing these feelings. Surely it wasn’t while he was still bound by the chains of slavery. But perhaps when Oikawa started treating him like an equal after having decided to free him? Perhaps when, despite needing Iwaizumi, Oikawa gave him is best horse and sent him back home where he knew Iwaizumi wanted to be? Perhaps when Iwaizumi was separated from Oikawa after so long spent at his side and he began to realize how huge of an impact Oikawa had had on his life?

Whatever the case may be, Iwaizumi is finally facing the truth: that he loves Oikawa Tooru. He doesn’t know what this means for them, what would ever become of these feelings. Nothing, he’s sure. They must be unrequited. There’s no way that the _Tjaty_ feels the same way.

But that’s not important at the moment. There are other much more pressing matters that Iwaizumi needs to concern himself with.

Azhar sighs and rubs at his forehead. “Fine. You’re just as stubborn as Dad was, so I know I won’t be able to change your mind,” he says, seemingly ignoring Iwaizumi’s confession. “But I’m not staying here longer than a week. I’ll help you and your damsel in that time, but then I’m going home. Someone needs to take care of our family.”

With that he turns and enters the _Tjaty’s_ rooms. Iwaizumi doesn’t budge from his spot though. He has a lot to think about, and he’s not sure he’s quite ready to sit civilly across from his brother or casually next to Oikawa at that desk. He needs to gather up those feelings and emotions that he allowed to spill out first, he needs to collect himself, put on a calm façade, before he can enter that room. He takes a step forward and leans his hands on the waist tall banister looking out into the indoor courtyard as he attempts to do just that.

The last thing he needs is for the _Tjaty_ to suddenly appear next to him, leaning back against the short banister with his arms crossed over his bare chest. Neither speak for a moment, Iwaizumi’s heart hammering beneath his ribcage, and Oikawa obviously weighing his words before he decides to speak them. For once.

“Is everything okay?” he finally asks, shooting a sideways glance at Iwaizumi. “You brother is all smiles, but….”

They’re silent again. Iwaizumi doesn’t have an answer to that question. He doesn’t know if everything is okay. He really fucked up with his brother, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. His brother is right, that he should be back in Israel with his family. But Iwaizumi is also right in that he belongs here in Cairo with Oikawa. He feels so torn and he doesn’t know how to fix this situation.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” Oikawa tells him, and his tone is quiet, just a whisper in the empty hallway. “Your brother is right. You have a family back in Israel. You can’t leave them behind just because I can’t get my shit together.”

Iwaizumi turns on Oikawa then, a frown on his face and a retort burning on his tongue. “Would you stop doing that? You keep putting yourself down, claiming that you’re incompetent, but you’re _not_. You are so far from incompetent. You are so strong and you don’t even realize that. I’d like to see any one of the _Pharaoh’s_ advisors do _half_ the work you’re doing while also dealing with an ill father. I’d like to see any one of them try to hold this country up the way you have. Or hell I’d like to see the _Pharaoh_ himself try to run his own fucking country the way you have. They wouldn’t last a week. You have nothing to prove to them. They should be trying to prove themselves to you. You are so incredibly strong and competent, Oikawa. And that’s why I have to stay. While you support your entire country, someone needs to support you, and I want to be that support.”

Oikawa stares at him wide eyed and gaping. His bottom lip starts to quiver and Iwaizumi worries that he may start crying. He thought he had dealt with the last of the waterworks earlier, but he may be wrong.

“You always know exactly what to say to throw me completely off balance,” Oikawa smiles with a sniffle, but the tears don’t come. “You’re one of the only people that’s ever believed in me, Iwa-chan. I’m so happy you came back. I was so lost without you.” He looks down at the ground as he rubs at his arm. Iwaizumi is starting to think that’s all he has to say until he speaks again. “If there’s anything I can do for you, to make this easier, please let me know. I owe you more than you’ll ever realize.”

Iwaizumi is about to refuse, about to tell him that there’s nothing Iwaizumi wants from him, that as long as he doesn’t work himself to death he’ll be happy. But then a thought pops into his head and he hesitates.

“Actually, there is something….”

…

The next few days are crazy to say the least. Iwaizumi spends more nights than not sleeping on Oikawa’s floor on blankets Oikawa dragged out for him from his room. Azhar, for his credit, works just as hard as Iwaizumi and Oikawa, and Yahaba joins them when he can. Matsukawa and Hanamaki even join them, although they prove to be a distraction more often than they’re helpful, considering neither can read or write. Iwaizumi makes a note to teach them if ever he gets the time.

It takes a couple of days for Oikawa to even get the chance to start working on the favor Iwaizumi asked for, but honestly it’s much sooner than Iwaizumi had been expecting. Oikawa seems extremely excited and determined to fulfill his request though, so Iwaizumi doesn’t stop him. The sooner he can get it arranged, the sooner Iwaizumi can relax. Hopefully.

The week flies by filled with parchment, ink, letters to be read, organized, and dealt with if necessary, speeches that are written, then repeatedly rewritten until perfect, trade agreements to negotiate and arrange, and so many other duties that Iwaizumi can barely keep everything straight. He honestly has no idea how Oikawa managed so long without him. It only goes to further prove how incredible he really is.

The week is also a struggle when it comes to dealing with all these newly recognized feelings for the _Tjaty_. Every time they sit close at the desk, every brush of a hand as they pass each other documents, every time Oikawa leans close to point something out on the document Iwaizumi is working on, every pat to the shoulder when Oikawa bids him a goodnight. It builds and builds until Iwaizumi thinks he might quite literally explode. There’s no way he can deal with this swell of affection for the _Tjaty_ on top of the major stress of the duties they’re trying to complete. Eventually, he’s going to make a mistake, and all of this is going to crumble down around them.

As if all of that isn’t enough, the week also proves to be quite the challenge when dealing with Azhar as well. Azhar is cold to Iwaizumi, only speaking to him when necessary, and completely brushing him off when it’s not. Yahaba had a private room arranged for him rather than giving them a room to share, and when Azhar isn’t helping them out, he’s off with Matsukawa or Hanamaki, or he’s holed up in his room. It drives Iwaizumi crazy, and the guilt picks away at him. He and his brother were so close, and now they’ve come to this? But if Oikawa can manage to get Iwaizumi’s favor arranged, then maybe he can salvage his relationship not only with Azhar but with his whole family.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa calls as he enters his rooms. He’s breathing hard, as if he just ran all the way here from wherever he had disappeared to. He probably did. “Is your brother still here?”

“Yahaba just took him to prepare a horse,” Iwaizumi tells him, lowering his quill. “Why?”

“I just finished getting it arranged,” Oikawa tells him with a smile. “Everything is ready to go.”

Iwaizumi is on his feet in an instant, rushing out the doors and towards the stables in the yard with Oikawa following closely behind. Kyoutani is just finishing strapping a saddle bag onto a horse when Iwaizumi and Oikawa enter the stables. All three pairs of eyes look up when they burst in.

“Azhar wait,” Iwaizumi pants, slipping effortlessly into Arabic. “You were right that I belong with my family. You’re right that I belong in Israel with Mother, helping her take care of the household and helping the boys with their studies. You were right, and I know that. But I also need you to know that I’m right too. I’m needed here, helping Oikawa. I may have been brought here unwillingly in the beginning, but somewhere along the way I realized that this is where I belong, doing what I always wanted to do. I know you don’t like it, but I need to be here. However, if you and Mother and the boys agree, you all can come here as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Azhar questions. He doesn’t sound mad, he’s not upset, he sounds genuinely curious.

“I can’t go back to Israel, not yet, but you all can come here,” Iwaizumi reiterates. “Oikawa has generously offered up a place for you all to live here in the palace, or he’s also arranged for you all to move into a house not far from the palace if you’d rather have your privacy. It can be permanent, or it can be temporary, if we all decide to move back to Israel when I’m no longer needed here. In addition to the house, Oikawa has also arranged transport for Mother and the boys across the desert, and for the farm back home to be taken care of while you are all here. Please Azhar, I love my family, and I don’t think you realize how hard it is for me to make the decision not to go back. But I really do need to stay here, and I would really love for you all to join me here.”

Azhar stares between Iwaizumi and the _Tjaty_ in shock for a long minute. Iwaizumi’s heart starts to beat faster as the silence draws out, unsure of what’s going through his brother’s head.

“I… I believe you, Hajime,” he finally murmurs. “After watching you work, after witnessing just how much work the _Tjaty_ has to deal with every day, I realized a while ago that you were right. Perhaps you are needed here. I was just upset that you seemed so willing to leave us behind for it. But… if this is how you truly feel, if you really want all of us to remain together…. I’ll talk to Mother, see if I can convince her to come to Cairo.”

The relief that floods Iwaizumi is nearly overwhelming. No other words are exchanged as Azhar mounts his horse and leaves the stables. Oikawa is quiet- albeit very smiley- as they make their way back to the palace. It’s a little disconcerting, and Iwaizumi can’t help but call him out on it.

“What are you so… giddy about?” Iwaizumi asks as they push through the doors to Oikawa’s rooms.

Oikawa shrugs as he takes a seat at his desk. “It’s just nice that you care about your family so much,” he finally offers after a moment of thought. “And I’m really glad that I could help bring you guys together without you leaving me again.”

“You haven’t actually brought us back together yet. First, Azhar has to try and convince my mother to leave Israel, which she may not be inclined to do,” Iwaizumi tells him. “But I really do appreciate your efforts, and your haste. When I first asked, I wasn’t expecting you to get anything prepared for months. I’m really grateful, Oikawa. Thank you.”

Oikawa turns his radiant smile onto Iwaizumi, and it’s completely genuine, completely sincere, with no traces of his usual playful or teasing attitude. “It was the least I could do, after everything you’ve done for me. I still don’t feel like we’re even. So if there’s anything else….”

This time, Iwaizumi shakes his head at the question as he dives back into his work. “You don’t owe me anything,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I’m here because I want to be.”

“I still don’t really understand why that is,” Oikawa murmurs, his quill scratching across the parchment before him. “Why you want to be here, that is.”

Iwaizumi feels his heart speeding up in his chest as all of the reasons immediately spring into his mind. But he can’t voice them. He can’t tell the _Tjaty_ why he really wants to be here. So instead, he just shrugs a shoulder, attempting to keep his hands from shaking as he continues to write. “There’s just something about you, Oikawa. It’s like you couldn’t let me leave, even after I was long gone. You drew me back.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, but when Iwaizumi chances a glance, he sees that he’s smiling at his paperwork. And Iwaizumi knows that his paperwork is definitely not amusing enough to warrant a smile like that. Perhaps Iwaizumi said too much. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finally says, not looking up at him. “More than you will probably ever understand.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he means by that, so he doesn’t say anything, and they fall into a companionable silence, the only sound in the room that of the scratching of their quills. Iwaizumi finishes what he had been working on and shuffles papers around to start on his next task. A scroll catches his eye and he reaches for it.

“I nearly forgot,” Iwaizumi says, holding the scroll out to Oikawa. “This came for you while you were out this morning. Many Israeli states have agreed to your terms for the trade of wheat for salt.”

Oikawa’s eyes are wide as he reaches for the scroll and hastily opens it. Iwaizumi smirks as Oikawa’s hands thump onto the desk and he shoots Iwaizumi a rather exasperated look, clearly not amused. Iwaizumi reaches over to slip the parchment from Oikawa’s fingers, the _Tjaty_ still staring at him in disdain. Iwaizumi is still smirking as he translates the letter from Hebrew to Egyptian for him.

“That’s an unbelievable relief,” Oikawa sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Perhaps the _Pharaoh_ will remove me from the top of his hate list now.”

“I still can’t understand how neither you nor the _Pharaoh_ nor anyone else on his council managed to remember your protectorate to the east. How did you not think to talk with Israel?” Iwaizumi questions.

“Yes, Israel is our protectorate, but we’ve never… had a big interest in them…” Oikawa admits with a sheepish laugh. “They’ve always just been… _there_. As I understand it, we annexed Israel to protect it from the Romans and the Greeks, so after that, there was no reason to really be involved with them. I guess we were wrong.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi snorts sarcastically. “Well, Israel is more than a weak people that need protecting. We have a lot to offer, if you just take the time to get to know our country.”

Oikawa nods with a smile. “I think you’re right,” he says. “Perhaps I should start by having you teach me the language?” He actually seems really hopeful, almost as if he’s pleading, and Iwaizumi wonders why he wants to learn the language of his people so badly.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the _Tjaty._ “Perhaps we should start with something simpler and more relevant, like our biggest resource productions and exports?”

…

Over the next few weeks, Iwaizumi does what he can in between their work to teach Oikawa little things about Israel. Oikawa seems very eager to learn, and always listens with such rapt attention as Iwaizumi speaks. It makes something flutter in his chest, seeing how interested the _Tjaty_ is in learning about Iwaizumi’s home country. This isn’t the only thing that makes Iwaizumi’s heart flutter. Every soft look, every word whispered in privacy, every casual touch to his arm or shoulder, it all slowly eats away at Iwaizumi’s self-control. He wants this man, but he knows he can’t have him, and that realization only grows more and more painful every day.

As far as their work goes, Iwaizumi and Oikawa, with the help of Yahaba, make excellent progress towards getting Oikawa caught up and on good terms with the _Pharaoh_ again. In fact, they do such a good job with the trade with Israel that, when the wagons start rolling in laden with wheat and grain, the _Pharaoh_ calls Oikawa to his palace to celebrate with a feast. And much to Iwaizumi’s shock and protests, Oikawa insists on bringing his ‘Israeli collaborator’.

“Lord, I feel ridiculous,” Iwaizumi huffs as two palace servants delicately apply colored kohl to his eyes.

Oikawa, who had already finished receiving this treatment, smirks into his mirror as he fits his multitude of gold armbands and jewelry onto his body.

“You look stunning, Iwa-chan! We’re dining with the _Pharaoh_ and the rest of the council. That entails getting dressed for the occasion,” he hums.

“You know, we still have a lot of work to do,” Iwaizumi points out. One of the women holds his head tighter when he flinches away from the kohl. “I really should stay here and get some more things done. We’ll fall behind….”

“Too late, I already told the _Pharaoh_ that you would be accompanying me and he’s eager to meet you. He’ll want to meet with the person responsible for the trade agreement that saved his people,” Oikawa tells him.

Iwaizumi frowns. He’s not going to claim the idea for his own. He can’t. The _Pharaoh_ needs to think that it was entirely Oikawa’s idea. Iwaizumi would gain nothing by claiming credit. But it could mean everything for Oikawa.

It takes much too long for the both of them to get ready to meet with the _Pharaoh_ , especially considering how few clothes they’re wearing. But after they’re both dressed into fine _shendyts_ of gold and blue fabric, _nemes_ to match, and enough gold to live off of for the rest of Iwaizumi and his family’s lives, the two leave the _Tjaty_ palace, climbing onto a chariot strapped to two antsy horses. When Oikawa takes up the reins, Iwaizumi starts to get a little nervous.

And his nervousness is justified. Oikawa proves to be as careful a chariot driver as he is a rider. The only thing that makes it worth it is that in his desperation not to fly off the back of the chariot, Iwaizumi’s hand shoots out to grab at Oikawa’s hip. Very few times does he ever get to touch the _Tjaty_ , and very rarely like this. Iwaizumi’s heart is in his throat and it takes every ounce of self control he possessed not to press himself up against the _Tjaty’s_ back, his lean muscle rippling under the smooth bared skin in front of him much too tempting.

Oikawa turns his head just enough to offer Iwaizumi a smirk. “Might want to hold on tighter than that, Iwa-chan,” he purrs as he snaps the reins against the rumps of his horses and they lurch forward at an even quicker pace.

And so he does as he’s told, moving closer to the _Tjaty_ and sliding his hand from his hip, across his stomach to wrap around his waist. Perhaps he moves his hand a little slower than necessary, and maybe he’s imagining the way Oikawa shivers beneath his touch.

It’s much too soon that they arrive at the _Pharaoh’s_ palace and Iwaizumi is forced to release Oikawa and step off the chariot. There are a number of slaves waiting for them when they arrive, some taking hold of Oikawa’s horses to lead them away, and the remaining two bowing low to the guests before leading them up the many steps and to the grand front doors. If Iwaizumi thought that the _Tjaty_ palace was over the top, then this palace is just ridiculous.

They’re lead through the doors and into a large front room. It’s there that they’re asked to wait to be received. Iwaizumi frowns. Received by who?

“Welcome!” a booming voice suddenly echoes through the room, startling Iwaizumi. He looks around until his eyes fall on an older man, his face wrinkled and dry from many Egyptian summers. He’s dressed even more elegantly than Oikawa and Iwaizumi, his _shendyt_ an array of glistening gold interwoven with many vibrant colors. His _nemes_ is equally as shiny and colorful, as well as decorated with all the symbols of a _Pharaoh._ His wife is at his elbow, and she too is stunning to behold. “Welcome, my boy,” he says to Oikawa who bows his head low to the _Pharaoh_. “Please, introduce me to your Israeli.”

“ _Pharaoh_ , this is my associate, and very good friend, Iwaizumi Hajime. Iwaizumi, this is _Pharaoh_ Irihata of Egypt.”


	10. The Pharaoh

Iwaizumi has never felt more out of place in his life. Of course, not counting the time he lived as a slave in the _Tjaty’s_ palace. But that and this are two vastly different situations. The _Pharaoh’s_ palace is so grandiose and elaborately decorated it makes Oikawa’s look like a farmhouse. Not only are the hallways bustling with slaves, but guards are posted quite literally at every corner and door, two of them never leaving the _Pharaoh’s_ side. Iwaizumi is afraid that if he even sneezes, he’ll end up with a spear pointed at his throat.

The gaudiness of the palace and the overabundance of guards are the least of Iwaizumi’s discomforts, however. He has no idea how to behave around such high class members of society. Seated at a long table with Oikawa, the _Pharaoh_ , and all nine of the _Pharaoh’s_ other advisors, and watching them talk and interact with each other, Iwaizumi realizes that he definitely needed to press a little harder about not coming. Iwaizumi’s Egyptian is fluent, flawless, but sitting at this table he starts to wonder if these people are truly speaking Egyptian. What is with all this haughty language? What does it even mean? Iwaizumi has no idea. He’s also completely unfamiliar with noble etiquette. Everyone’s backs are so straight. Why does he have three spoons? How does he ask for more water? Why did all of the men near him glare at him when he thanked the slave that refilled his cup? What in the Lord’s name is he even doing here?

“Why are you so tense, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, leaning in to murmur it in Iwaizumi’s ear. “Relax and enjoy the food.”

“Easy for you to say, you pompous palace brat,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

Oikawa snickers behind a polite hand, but leans away to resume a conversation with another of the advisors. Iwaizumi wishes he’d come back.

“A toast!” the _Pharaoh_ suddenly declares, holding up his goblet. Everyone at the table mimics him and Iwaizumi hurries to follow suit. “To my new _Tjaty,_ for managing to save Egypt from what promised to be a devastating famine!”

“Praise the gods!” echoes around the table.

“But was it really the heir that saved Egypt?” one of the advisors retorts, his tone a sneer around the last couple words. “Or perhaps was it the Jew warming his sheets?”

Iwaizumi nearly chokes on his water, but the second he’s over his shock, anger takes its place. His blood boils as he turns his attention to the advisor who spoke. He’s a very round man with beady, glaring eyes and oily skin that winkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Iwaizumi matches his glare.

Oikawa slams his cup down on the table, and all startled eyes turn to him. He’s clearly angry, perhaps even angrier than Iwaizumi is. He opens his mouth to snap a retort, but Iwaizumi quickly cuts him off before he can say anything that will get him in trouble.

“First of all, if I may,” Iwaizumi says, trying to keep his voice calm and even, “he is no longer the heir. He is _Tjaty_. Second of all, it was not my idea. It was the _Tjaty’s_ idea to make contact with the lands under Egypt’s control to take stock of their wheat production and arrange a trade. Which is more than anyone else at this table thought to do. Also, if I may ask, do you only accuse me of warming the _Tjaty’s_ sheets because you long to do so yourself? I’m sure I heard a hint of jealousy in that accusation.”

Laughter echoes around the table as the advisor’s face flushes in embarrassment. The glare Iwaizumi receives is scalding, but it is more than worth it. Even Oikawa seems to have calmed. Instead of angry, he appears shocked as he stares at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi knows that he will be chewed out for shifting credit as soon as they get back to the palace, but Iwaizumi had been planning it all along, and he knows he won’t regret doing it. It needed to be done, he just wishes it hadn’t happened under such circumstances.

“That was an awfully bold accusation to make of the man with the authority to revoke your titles, Amenemhet,” the _Pharaoh_ declares, still chuckling at his advisor’s expense.

“Yes, and if you ever insult Iwaizumi in front of me again, I will have your title revoked before the words even leave your tongue, hm?” Oikawa says with a threateningly sweet smile that sends a shiver up Iwaizumi’s spine.

“I do find it rather convenient that the _Tjaty_ managed to put off the famine by negotiating a trade with Israel just after gaining a Jew as a companion,” another of the advisors says. He looks between Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Perhaps a little too convenient?”

“Those scars on your back are also quite interesting,” a third advisor declares. “They look an awful lot like the lashings of a whip. I also happen to know that the young _Tjaty_ purchased an Israeli slave many months ago.”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to imply here, Amosis,” Oikawa responds. His voice is hard. He’s growing angry again.

“Oh, we’re not implying anything, _Tjaty,_ ” Amosis says, turning to the other advisor that spoke. “Are we, Imhotep?”

“Of course not, My Lord,” Imhotep replies. “We’re simply curious about the… hm, comings-and-goings of the _Tjaty_ household.”

“Enough,” the _Pharaoh_ declares, finally putting an end to the banter. He has good timing, Iwaizumi was just about to go off on these pompous assholes. “It does not matter how my _Tjaty_ managed to come up with the idea to trade with Israel, only that he did. We owe him a debt. Be grateful and pray to the gods that Oikawa’s trade agreement will get us through to our next good harvest.”

At the _Pharaoh’s_ command, the minimally disguised accusatory jibes end, and a normal conversation takes its place. Iwaizumi still can’t follow along with their talk, but now he’s not so concerned with pretending to keep up. He’s still pissed. Luckily for him though, Oikawa is too, and manages to get them dismissed not too long after the meal comes to an end, with claims that he had a lot of work to do.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as they pass through the gates of the _Tjaty_ palace. “I didn’t… anticipate such behavior from them. I knew they hated me, but I was hoping it wouldn’t overflow onto you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Iwaizumi tells him. “They hate you because they feel threatened by you, you do realize this, right?”

“Threatened? What do you mean?” Oikawa questions.

“They can see how powerful and strong you are. They know that this position is not an easy one for a _Tjaty_ with the help of his sons, and yet you handle it by yourself. I think that scares them, which is why they want to see you removed from your title,” Iwaizumi explains.

“I never thought of it that way,” Oikawa murmurs. “I just assumed they enjoyed watching me struggle and fail.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “That could be true as well. They don’t have the best of personalities.”

Oikawa giggles at that, covering his mouth with a hand. “No, they don’t.” He lowers his hand and offers Iwaizumi a soft smile. “Thank you, Iwaizumi. I regret that they had to behave so poorly towards you, but I’m glad you were there with me.”

“Hm, I supposed it wasn’t all bad,” Iwaizumi says, then turns a smirk onto Oikawa. “Even though your driving is atrocious.”

“It is not!”

“Did you not notice me clinging on for dear life?”

Oikawa’s indignant pout suddenly turns into a smirk as they enter the _Tjaty’s_ rooms. “You were holding on to me rather tightly. I don’t think you realize your own strength, Iwa-chan. I could hardly breathe the entire way home!”

“Well next time, try not to throw me off the back of your chariot, and perhaps I won’t hold on so tightly.”

“What if I liked it?”

They both fall deafeningly quiet. Iwaizumi turns to him with wide eyes and Oikawa suddenly seems to realize what he just said as his eyes go wide as well. Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something, anything to dispel the awkward silence settling between them, but no words come to him. His mind is completely blank. Oikawa seems to be struggling just as much as Iwaizumi is, but he manages to actually voice a forced sentence.

“We should get back to work,” he mutters.

Iwaizumi nods and sits- perhaps a little too hard- on his chair and immediately dives into the dwindling stack of paperwork on Oikawa’s desk. The awkward silence doesn’t go away. If anything it amplifies, until Iwaizumi is fit to burst. What did Oikawa mean by that? What was with that look? It was playful, dare he say it was even flirty. No, that’s impossible. There’s no way Oikawa feels that way about him. He was so angry when that advisor accused them of sleeping together. But was he angry with the accusation, or was he angry with the slur and the insulting tone? He didn’t try to deny that he was sleeping with Iwaizumi, despite it being untrue. Does that mean, perhaps, that he wishes he were sleeping with Iwaizumi?

No, that’s absolutely ridiculous and a very dangerous train of thought for Iwaizumi to entertain. He can’t be thinking like that, especially if he’s wrong.

They’re not working long, and Iwaizumi is nearing a mental breakdown, when there is a knock on the doors. When Oikawa calls for the visitor to enter, Yahaba peeks his head in.

“Ah good, you’re both back,” he says as he steps into the room. “We just received a letter from your brother.”

Iwaizumi looks up after a moment, suddenly realizing Yahaba is talking to him. Yahaba is looking worriedly between Oikawa and Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi tries not to scowl, or let his cheeks start burning, knowing that he must be picking up on the tension in the room. Yahaba hands him a rolled piece of parchment and Iwaizumi quickly reads the neat lines scrawled upon it.

“So?” Oikawa presses. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, actually,” Iwaizumi murmurs, lowering the scroll to meet Oikawa’s curious eyes. “My mother has agreed to come to Cairo.”

…

The next couple of weeks, along with his usual duties in helping the _Tjaty_ , consist of preparing the house down the street from the palace for his family to move into. As soon Iwaizumi had received the letter from Azhar, Oikawa had sent the escort he had arranged out to Israel. It would take about two weeks for the wagon to make it’s round trip, so in reality Iwaizumi has more than enough time to prepare for his family’s arrival, but his nerves have him fussing. It’s something he receives a lot of teasing from Oikawa about, but he can also tell that Oikawa too is excited for the arrival of Iwaizumi’s family.

“They should be here by this afternoon, right?” Oikawa asks one morning as they’re seated at his desk.

Iwaizumi nods. “If the wagon is on schedule, then yes.”

“Oh good,” the _Tjaty_ smiles. Iwaizumi looks up at him curiously.

“You’ve been unusually excited ever since that letter arrived,” Iwaizumi observes. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What, I can’t just be happy?” Oikawa pouts. When Iwaizumi continues to pin him with a questioning look, he sighs and relents. “I’m just really happy that your family agreed to come here to Egypt to be with you. I guess… I’ve sort of been afraid that one day you’d realize you really did belong in Israel with them. It’s selfish but I… I didn’t want to have to watch you leave again. So I’m really happy they’re coming here and you get to be with them again without having to leave.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not leaving, Shittykawa? What do I have to do to show you I mean it?”

Oikawa falls silent, and something is obviously turning through his head. His cheeks start to color a little, and Iwaizumi knows he has to have imagined the way his gaze flickers to Iwaizumi’s lips ever so briefly. There’s no way he-

A knock on the door has both of them jumping in their seats. Iwaizumi tries to force his heart to calm down in his chest as Oikawa clears his throat and calls for whoever knocked to come in. His cheeks are still a faint pink, which isn’t helping with Iwaizumi’s heart problem.

Kunimi opens the door and steps inside just enough to bow to Oikawa. “The Iwaizumi family has arrived.”

That simple message does the trick in calming both men seated at the desk, focusing their attention off of each other and onto something else. They both stand.

“They’re early,” Iwaizumi murmurs.

Oikawa’s excitement is back full force as he hurries from the room, and Iwaizumi hurries to keep up. He doesn’t want Oikawa to overwhelm his poor mother.

When they round the corner into the large front room, Iwaizumi sees his mother and three brothers standing just inside the open doors. Kyoutani is lying on the ground just outside the doors hugging Iwaizumi’s dogs, and Yahaba is with his family, talking with Azhar as Iwaizumi’s mother and younger brothers look around in awe at the extravagant palace. But as soon as her eyes fall on Iwaizumi, a wide smile spreads across her soft face and she rushes forward. Iwaizumi meets her halfway, pulling her into a tight hug. He can’t really describe how happy he is to see her.

“This palace is so huge!” Mikhah suddenly cries, leaping at Iwaizumi when his mother releases him.

“It’s incredible,” Ira agrees, still looking around. “This is where you’ve been living all this time, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Yes, here with the _Tjaty_.”

When he looks around for Oikawa, he finds him standing off to the side, rubbing at his elbow and staring at the floor, as if trying to give them a private moment. But… does he look nervous? No, there’s no way _Oikawa Tooru_ is nervous. He looks up though when he hears his title, and Iwaizumi reaches out to grab his arm and pull him closer.

“Oikawa, this is my mother Farah, and my younger brothers Ira and Mikhah. Everyone, this is _Tjaty_ Oikawa Tooru.”

His brothers’ eyes go wide at realizing who they are in the presence of. Mikhah leans into Ira and whispers, “Should we bow, or something?” Ira only elbows him in the ribs and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Farah steps forward then and bows her head to Oikawa. Iwaizumi can’t quite read her expression. He knows she doesn’t like Oikawa for keeping Iwaizumi as a slave and having him whipped, but it looks like she’s trying to be civil.

“Could you tell him-” she starts to say, but Iwaizumi cuts her off with a smile.

“He understands Arabic,” he tells her. He turns a pointed look onto Oikawa. “He can speak it as well, he’s just afraid to.”

Oikawa huffs, looking away from Iwaizumi, but it’s quite obvious that he understood everything he had just said. So Farah turns to him and waits for Oikawa to meet her eyes.

“I want to thank you for taking care of Hajime for me while he has been here in Egypt,” she tells him.

Oikawa smiles and bows head. In halting Arabic, he starts to say, “Oh, it was my-”

“But I also want you to know that I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done to my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I felt that this was a really good cut off point


	11. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter! I'm not used to updating fics daily, so I keep forgetting. Anyways, I hope the content of this chapter makes up for it :)

Iwaizumi knew how Farah felt about Oikawa, but he never expected her to say so directly to Oikawa’s face. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her that he understands Arabic. Oikawa appears just as shocked as Iwaizumi and his brothers and everyone else in the room are, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. His eyes look regretful, almost pained as he stutters over a response.

“Mother,” Iwaizumi starts to chide, but stops himself when Oikawa suddenly drops to his knees beside him.

Oikawa doesn’t fully prostrate himself. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he knows how, but he also didn’t think he’d know how to get on his knees before someone else either. He’s probably never had to do it ever in his life, not even with the _Pharaoh._ But here he is, kneeling on the marble floor with his hands on his knees and his head bowed. To Iwaizumi’s mother, of all people.

“I will never forgive myself either, ma’am,” Oikawa murmurs, his voice so soft and full of regret that it makes Iwaizumi’s heart start to race. “There hasn’t been a day where I’ve seen those scars on his back and haven’t despised myself for putting them there. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t hated myself for the way I treated Iwaizumi when he first came here. And there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted not asking Iwaizumi how he ended up in that slave market so much sooner. So it’s okay that you will never forgive me, because I will never forgive myself either.”

Iwaizumi can hardly breathe. Oikawa has expressed before how much he regrets everything that happened in Iwaizumi’s first couple weeks here. But he never realized just how hard he’s been on himself. The truth behind his words, especially when he says he despises and hates himself, lances through Iwaizumi. He doesn’t want Oikawa to hate himself. Not for this. Not because of Iwaizumi.

The room is deafeningly silent for a long minute, and Oikawa doesn’t look up from the ground. Iwaizumi wonders if he should say something, but then Farah kneels before Oikawa and reaches out to lift his chin.

“You’re quite different than how I imagined you’d be. You don’t act much like a noble, kneeling on the floor before an Israeli commoner,” she says after a moment, and Iwaizumi is holding his breath. “But, perhaps I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. I know that my son would never have made the decision to come back and help you if you had been any old arrogant and self-centered noble. And now I see in you what he must see. You seem like a kind boy, Tooru. I can hear the truth in your words, and I can see how much you care for my son. Maybe, one day, I will be able to forgive you.”

Oikawa’s eyes are starting to water, and Iwaizumi can tell by the quiver of his lower lip and the straining muscles in his jaw that he’s trying very hard not to cry. Iwaizumi also knows that he should intervene before his family sees the great _Tjaty_ start bawling like a baby on his knees in the middle of his own entry hall.

Iwaizumi steps up beside Oikawa and holds out a hand. After a moment, Oikawa takes it and Iwaizumi pulls him to his feet. Ira offers a hand to their mother as she stands as well. Oikawa doesn’t release Iwaizumi’s hand, and Iwaizumi makes no effort to reclaim it.

“Unfortunately we have a lot of work to do, as is expected of the _Tjaty,_ ” Iwaizumi tells his family. “If you let me help the _Tjaty_ get started again, then I’ll be out in a moment to take you to your home so you can settle in.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for a response before leading Oikawa away from the entrance hall. Once they’re both back in the privacy of Oikawa’s room, the _Tjaty_ takes a few deep breathes, trying to calm himself down. Iwaizumi watches him for a moment, a little concerned, waiting for the right time to say what he needs to say.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finally murmurs, turning to face Iwaizumi. His eyes still look a little wet, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’ll start crying. He seems to be in control of his emotions. At least for the moment. “I kind of just ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi answers. “It was my mother who brought it up. I was hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal about it to you.”

Oikawa is shaking his head. “She’s right though. I shouldn’t have expected to get off well with her right off the bat, not after the terrible things I’ve done to you.”

“I already told you that I forgive you for it,” Iwaizumi presses. He frowns as the _Tjaty’s_ words play through his head again. “Did you really mean what you said? About despising yourself? Hating yourself?”

Oikawa steps up to Iwaizumi, so that they’re merely inches apart. Iwaizumi holds his breath, although he’s not quite sure why he feels the need to do so. The _Tjaty’s_ arms come up, as if to wrap Iwaizumi in a hug, but when his hands come in contact with Iwaizumi’s back, it’s just the barest touch of fingertips tracing along Iwaizumi’s many scars that he feels. A shiver rolls through Iwaizumi’s entire body at the whisper of a touch, and he forces himself to look into those soft brown eyes filled with an unreadable expression.

“Of course I meant it,” he whispers, and they’re close enough that Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa’s breath across his nose and lips. “I was so ignorant, so careless back then. You were the only slave I had ever purchased, but I had grown up in a home where if a slave misbehaved, they were whipped for their insubordination. When you acted out against Yahaba, it was an ingrained part of me, an automatic response. Whip the slave. I knew deep down that I shouldn’t do it, that I should have Yahaba deal with your rogue nature another way. I didn’t _want_ to have you whipped. You were so strong and proud and beautiful and I…. But all I knew was that if my father had been standing there, had he witnessed your act of rebellion, not only would he have had you whipped, he would have had you beheaded. So I gave the order. I regretted it the moment you were dragged out of my rooms. I knew I should stop it, that I should revoke that order. But all I could hear was my father’s voice telling me that I could never show weakness. I had to appear confident and sure. Going back on an order would undermine everyone’s respect of me. So I did nothing while Kyoutani lashed you to that pole and whipped you into unconsciousness. I hate myself for doing nothing. I despise myself for giving into what my father would’ve wanted from me. And every time I see these scars, I’m reminded of just how repulsive of a person I am to have allowed something like this to happen to you.”

“Oikawa…”

“That’s why I don’t blame your mother for hating me. I hate myself. I deserve it. What I don’t deserve are her kind words, the softness with which she looked at me, with which she touched me. I hurt you, I deserve-”

Iwaizumi shuts him up by reaching up to grab at his jaw. “She doesn’t hate you. She saw in you what I see in you, which is why she spoke so kindly with you. And that’s also why she will forgive you, despite her words. Because I forgive you. We all make mistakes Oikawa. All that matters is that you learn from those mistakes. And I know that you have, by the kind way you treat me and your other servants now. You didn’t commit any wrong onto my mother. The only wrong you committed was onto me, so you need only concern yourself with how I feel. And I’ve told you a hundred times and I’ll tell you a hundred more, that I forgive you. So please, please don’t hate yourself. I don’t hate you. I love you, Tooru. And would I love you if I couldn’t forgive you for what you did?”

Oikawa is crying now, tears streaming down his face, and his hands curl tighter against Iwaizumi’s back. Iwaizumi’s heart is racing as his confession hangs in the air between them, nervous over how it will be accepted. But he needn’t have worried. When his words seem to catch up with Oikawa, the _Tjaty_ is quickly closing the short distance between them to claim Iwaizumi’s lips with his own.

All thought leaves Iwaizumi’s mind as those soft lips meet his. All thought about his mother’s words, all thought about Oikawa’s self-hatred, all thought about their difference in social status, all thought about anything other than the man moving against his lips. Iwaizumi’s hand on Oikawa’s jaw softens and slides across smooth skin to wrap around the back of his neck, holding the man against him as Iwaizumi deepens the kiss. It’s a little wet from Oikawa’s tears, and Oikawa’s hands are shaking against his back, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do with his other hand, but it’s perfect. Oikawa has a taste all his own, and the way he moves his body into Iwaizumi’s is perfect. It’s perfect, and Iwaizumi doesn’t want it to end.

But unfortunately, Iwaizumi has a family to attend to, and Oikawa really does have a lot of work he needs to be doing. So reluctantly- so very reluctantly- Iwaizumi pulls back from the kiss. They’re both breathing hard as they stare at each other for a moment longer, their lips red and slightly swollen, and Oikawa is slow to drop his hands from Iwaizumi’s back.

“I need to go take my family to the house,” Iwaizumi tells him. He doesn’t mean for it to come out breathy, but he hasn’t quite caught his breath yet. It doesn’t help that his heart is still a fluttering mess in his chest. “I’ll be back, so go ahead and get started without me.”

Oikawa only nods, but he doesn’t move from that spot as Iwaizumi takes another step back, then turns to leave the rooms. As Iwaizumi heads down the halls, he covers his mouth with a shaking hand. Hopefully this stupid, giddy smile will leave his face before he reaches the entrance hall where his entire family waits for him.

…

The house is much bigger than his family is used to, but they seem to settle in quite easily. There’s no farm to care for, and Iwaizumi hears Ira mutter about not knowing what to do all day anymore as they start to unpack their luggage. Iwaizumi hangs around for a while, helping them unpack and telling them about the area, but his mind isn’t really here in this house. It’s back in the palace, in the _Tjaty’s_ rooms, in Oikawa’s arms.

He tries not to think too much on what this means for them though. It’s rather obvious now that Iwaizumi’s feelings are not one sided. Oikawa feels the same way about him as he does about Oikawa. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they can be together, just like that. Oikawa most likely doesn’t want anything serious. He has a very delicate image to uphold. He can’t just jump into bed with an Israeli commoner. It’s bad enough that the other advisors made accusations. If they prove to be true, who knows what could happen to Oikawa. The only socially acceptable relationship he can have is with a young noble girl that can bear him many heirs. Iwaizumi doesn’t fit the bill in a number of ways.

It doesn’t help though that, when he returns to the _Tjaty_ palace and sits at that desk beside Oikawa, Oikawa has the giddiest of smiles on his face. He keeps glancing over at Iwaizumi every couple of minutes, watching as Iwaizumi tries to keep working.

“Iwa-chan said he loves me,” he sings, and Iwaizumi throws him a glare.

“Don’t make me take it back, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“Nope, you can’t take it back, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums, leaning closer to Iwaizumi. “I already know the truth. You love me.”

“I may not be able to take it back, but I can regret saying it.”

Oikawa gasps. “So mean, Iwa-chan!” But then his pout fades and he leans in to press a kiss to Iwaizumi’s cheek. Iwaizumi lifts a hand to stop him.

“You don’t get to kiss me until you get those contracts finished,” Iwaizumi tells him, pushing Oikawa back by his face. He’s trying to hide the fact that his heart is beating perhaps a little too quickly.

“Aw but Iwa-chan, these are going to take me forever!”

“Then you better get to work,” Iwaizumi retorts.

“Fine,” Oikawa grumbles, but he does get back to work.

The two work for hours, well into the night, until Iwaizumi starts to have trouble keeping his eyes open. Iwaizumi is surprised, when he looks around the desk, that they’ve managed to get quite a bit done these last few weeks. Dare he say it, but they’re getting close to catching up. He hadn’t thought it possible to get caught up with Oikawa’s work, but the piles upon piles of parchment scattered across the desk have definitely begun to dwindle.

When Oikawa finishes what he had been working on, he turns fully in his seat to face Iwaizumi. When Iwaizumi glances up at him, he sees a hopeful, nearly pleading look in his eyes. Iwaizumi exhales as he lowers his quill and turns to face Oikawa. Oikawa’s eyes light up and he eagerly leans in. Only to have Iwaizumi stop him again with his fingers over his lips.

“First, tell me why you want to,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa pulls back, a hint of confusion playing across his face. “Why? Because I love you too, Iwa-chan. I want to kiss you again,” he answers, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Iwaizumi sits back, running a hand through his hair. “But why me? You’re supposed to fall in love with a young noble girl. Well, maybe not fall in love, but you’re expected to marry one and produce heirs. That won’t happen with me.”

“I can’t control who I fall in love with,” Oikawa says. “But I can tell you that I’ve known for a very long time I would never marry a noble girl and produce heirs. I’m not _Pharaoh_ , so it’s not important for me to produce heirs. When I die, the _Pharaoh_ will simply appoint someone else.”

“But you’re not worried that people will talk? That they’ll question why you’re with someone like me?”

“Of course they’ll talk, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snorts. “But ‘someone like you’ is who I want to be with, so they can say whatever they want. It’s not going to change anything.” Oikawa exhales sharply and leans in again. “I’ve spent a long time avoiding these feelings I have towards you because I assumed there was no way you’d return them after all I did to you. So if you truly feel the same as I do, then please, don’t make me hold them back anymore.”

Iwaizumi is not a romantic. Sweet words have never once worked on him. But when said by this annoyingly charming man in front of him, sweet words start to work wonders.

…

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes, his eyes wide as he stares down at his cleared desk. His hands hover over the surface, his whole body still, as if tentatively approaching a wild animal. “Iwa-chan, we’re done.”

“What in the Lord’s-”

“Shhh, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses. “This is a very delicate situation. You have to be careful or-”

“My Lord?” Yahaba’s voice suddenly interrupts, peeking inside the _Tjaty’s_ doors. “I just received the _Pharaoh’s_ spending records for the last month. Would you like these now?”

Oikawa groans and flops down onto his desk. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and stands to collect the documents from Yahaba. Oikawa had a right to be so shocked though. They had just completed the last couple of backlogged tasks and had, for the first time since Iwaizumi arrived at the palace as a slave, been completely caught up with the _Tjaty’s_ work. Probably for the first time since Oikawa’s father fell sick. But of course, the work never stops, and Iwaizumi drops the stack of papers next to Oikawa.

“You just have to update his budget,” Iwaizumi tells him. “It’ll only take you a few minutes.”

“Which means that I don’t have to do it right this moment, right?” he asks suddenly, quickly getting to his feet and stepping right up in front of Iwaizumi. His hands automatically find Iwaizumi’s hips, as if that’s where they’re meant to be, and his lips gravitate towards the line of Iwaizumi’s neck. His lips ghost up the side of Iwaizumi’s neck until he’s nipping at his earlobe. Iwaizumi has to suppress a shudder. “I can think of something else I’d rather do. Or rather, someone?”

The two of them had been sneaking around for weeks now, only allowing themselves to touch each other when in private. Oikawa would be perfectly content to hold Iwaizumi’s hand through the halls, or to kiss out in the gardens, but Iwaizumi managed to convince him to keep things quiet for now. At least until the advisors calm down and start to respect Oikawa’s title. They’re still pretty huffy around Oikawa, and some still refuse to recognize Oikawa as the _Tjaty._ Even more are not very pleased with the companion he chooses to keep.

So Iwaizumi and Oikawa lay low, only showing each other affection when in the privacy of Oikawa’s rooms. And in the weeks since that first confession, they haven’t gotten further than heated kisses and roaming hands. This is the first time Oikawa has hinted at wanting anything more, and a tingle runs up Iwaizumi’s spine. Unfortunately for Oikawa though- or perhaps the both of them- Iwaizumi has plans.

“Sorry, but I’m having dinner with my family and I need to leave soon if I’m going to be on time,” Iwaizumi reminds him. “Besides, if you put things off, you’re going to end up in the same situation that got us into this mess in the first place. Don’t let things build up, Oikawa. I mean it.”

“Fine,” he whines, reaching for the papers and dragging them closer. “Say hi to your family for me.”

Iwaizumi waves over his shoulder as he leaves the room. He doesn’t bother to mention that Oikawa is welcome to join them if he wants to. They’ve had this conversation before. Oikawa always claims to have too much work, but Iwaizumi knows that he is really just afraid of Farah. Or at least of doing something that will make her hate him even more. In reality, she’s been warming up to him quite a bit, and Iwaizumi thinks they could actually get along rather well. But he won’t push Oikawa.

Iwaizumi leaves the front gates and heads down the dusty road leading towards town. It’s nearly sundown and there’s not a soul in sight. Out here, there aren’t many people wandering around. The _Tjaty_ palace is too far removed from the city. There are a few houses between the palace and Iwaizumi’s family’s house, but not many, and rarely does Iwaizumi see anyone when he makes this walk.

Which is why when he sees a man leaning against a low clay wall out front of one of these houses, Iwaizumi decides to watch him closely. He seems rather out of place, and the last time Iwaizumi was wandering around alone without being on guard, it didn’t turn out very well for him.

But so focused is he on the man leaning against the wall, that he doesn’t notice the person coming up behind him. By the time he does sense their presence and turn, a stone is already swinging down towards him. A sharp pain radiates through his head, but everything goes black before he even hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also sorry for the amount of time breaks in this chapter. I try to take most, if not all of those out, but I just couldn't figure out how to string everything together this time


	12. Captive

Oikawa is humming to himself as he finishes up the _Pharaoh’s_ budget. Iwaizumi was right, and it didn’t take him very long at all to finish. Pushing aside the papers, Oikawa stands and stretches until something in his back pops. With a satisfied sigh, he shakes out his shoulders and looks around the dimly lit room. A sudden realization that he has no idea what to do now floods through him as he looks back down at his cleared desk. He’s always had work to do ever since he came of age and his father started giving him small tasks and duties. As soon as he finished one, he was given another. And when his father fell ill, suddenly it wasn’t just one project he had, but all of them. It’s been eight years since he’s last had nothing to do. It’s the strangest feeling, and Oikawa has no idea what to do with himself. He wishes that Iwaizumi was here, so that he’d at least have some company in his boredom, even if they didn’t do anything.

He heads into his bedroom, deciding that he’ll read until he falls asleep. He’s rather tired, still not quite caught up on his sleep even if he is caught up on his work, so he doesn’t think it’ll take him long. Plucking a random book from the pile near his bed, he climbs onto the soft sheets and flips to a random page. He’s read all these books before. Most more than once. Dragging the candle on his bedside table closer, he dives into the words, letting himself get lost in the pages.

He’s suddenly brought to by an insistent knocking on the front doors of his rooms. Oikawa sits up blearily and looks around. The candle has burned out, and his bedroom is completely dark. Standing, he nearly trips over a stack of books as he makes his way out of the bedroom. Peeking out the open air window in the main room, he sees that the moon is high in the sky. It’s probably pretty late, or even very early.

The knocking continues, and Oikawa smiles. Iwaizumi must be back, and maybe he wants to spend this night with Oikawa. Perhaps he’s eager to take Oikawa up on his offer from earlier? Or even if he’s not, maybe he’ll agree to share Oikawa’s bed, to keep him company through the rest of the night.

But when he opens the door, his smile fades. It’s not Iwaizumi. Yahaba is standing on the other side of the door, and he looks worried. He tries to peer around Oikawa into the room when Oikawa opens the door to him.

“Iwaizumi isn’t here with you, is he?” Yahaba asks nervously.

“No, he’s not,” Oikawa answers. “He should be with his family. Why, what’s going on? Do you need him for something?”

“No My Lord, but…” Yahaba hesitates, looking back over his shoulder. Something isn’t right, and Oikawa is starting to get nervous. “I know I saw him leave to visit his family but… his mother and oldest brother are here looking for him. They say he never showed up.”

Oikawa’s stomach drops and his heart misses a beat. Iwaizumi never arrived at his family’s house? Oikawa knows he left as well. But where else would he be, if he’s not here or with his family? He has no connections in Cairo. He doesn’t know anyone here that doesn’t live in Oikawa’s palace. It doesn’t make sense that he would just disappear, unless….

“Call for Kyoutani, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and bring Azhar as well,” Oikawa starts to say as he hurries back into his room for his sandals, his voice hard and serious in a way it hardly ever is. “Bring them all out to the stables to prepare the chariots. You’ll come with us as well. Tell them to knock on every door, stop every passerby. We need to find him.”

“Tooru,” a shaky voice suddenly says as Oikawa is leaving the room. He turns to see Iwaizumi’s mother standing in the hallway, her hands clutched together in front of her chest, fidgeting with some religious symbol around her neck. She must’ve followed Yahaba to Oikawa’s rooms. Even though she couldn’t understand his Egyptian, he’s sure she picked up on his tone and his worry. “Do you think he was taken by somebody? Has he been kidnapped… again?”

Oikawa can feel his own panic starting to rise to the surface when her voice cracks around the word ‘again’, when he remembers that Iwaizumi had been kidnapped before. But Oikawa forces it down, forces himself to try and keep a level head.

“I don’t know,” Oikawa tells her honestly. “But whether he was or not, I will find him, and I will bring him home. I promise you.”

“Please, Tooru,” she pleads, tears starting to track down her cheeks. “Please find him. I can’t lose him. Not again.”

…

When Iwaizumi comes to, he’s laying on a smooth marble floor. He must be in Oikawa’s rooms, he must’ve fallen asleep on the floor again. But usually Oikawa brings him a blanket or two. It’s unusually cold, and Iwaizumi’s head feels really heavy. It’s throbbing. What happened? He doesn’t remember hitting his head on anything. When he tries to reach up a hand, he feels the pull of rope against his wrists, and his eyes fly open.

He’s not in Oikawa’s rooms. The room he’s in is a long hallway lined with barrels stacked tall. And he’s not on a marble floor. It’s clay. The walls around him are all clay. Where the hell is he? A cellar? He’s been in Oikawa’s cellar before, and this definitely isn’t his cellar. How did he end up with his wrists and ankles bound in a strange cellar? He tries very hard to recall what happened before he fell asleep, and he can’t. The last thing he remembers… being in Oikawa’s room. Oikawa told him that they were caught up in his paperwork. Oikawa’s lips ghosting over his neck…. And then nothing. Did he ever go visit his family? He was supposed to. Why can’t he remember?

The creak of a door suddenly echoes down the hallway, and Iwaizumi lurches up into a sitting position, turning to face the direction the noise had come from. There are stairs at the end of the hall, and feet appear on the top step, descending into the cellar. Iwaizumi waits with baited breath for the man’s face to be revealed. Maybe if he finds out who is keeping him bound in a cellar, he’ll remember what happened to him.

The face comes into view and a disbelieving frown pulls at Iwaizumi’s lips. He knows that face, and the name that belongs to it. Amenemhet. One of the _Pharaoh’s_ advisors. And the man that so hostilely spoke out against Oikawa at the dinner. He still doesn’t remember how he got here, but he suddenly starts to understand _why_ he might be here.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” that snively voice says as Amenemhet comes to a halt at the base of the steps, a few dozen feet away from Iwaizumi.

“You know, this reminds me of the first time someone had my wrists bound and forced me to my knees before a pompous noble snake,” Iwaizumi says, looking down at the ropes binding his wrists. When he looks back up at the advisor, it’s with the hardest, most threatening glare he can muster. “I did not enjoy that time.”

He takes the slightest pleasure in the small backwards step Amenemhet takes.

“Is that how you speak to all of your superiors?” the advisor sneers. “It’s a wonder Oikawa enjoys your company so much.”

“He’s a saint,” Iwaizumi deadpans. He’s not interested in playing these games with the advisor. He wants him to get to the point. “Why am I here?”

“Because I believe you are a threat to the _Pharaoh’s Tjaty_ ,” he answers simply. “And threats need to be eliminated.”

Iwaizumi stares at him flatly. “You think I’m a threat,” he repeats, his voice even, exasperated, and it’s not a question. Amenemhet seems to bristle at Iwaizumi’s unimpressed tone, which is what Iwaizumi was aiming for. “How in the Lord’s name am I a threat?”

“Filthy Jews don’t belong on the council of the _Pharaoh_ ,” he retorts, and Iwaizumi makes a note to bring up his Lord more often in this conversation, if it truly riles the advisor so much. “I don’t know what your motives are, what you think you’ll accomplish by trying to steal Tooru’s title-”

“Okay, first of all, never call him Tooru ever again. It’s disgusting and disrespectful coming from you. I hadn’t been serious when I accused you of longing to share the _Tjaty’s_ bed before, but now I’m not so sure,” Iwaizumi grimaces.

Amenemhet’s face turns beat red almost instantaneously and Iwaizumi’s stomach turns. “I am not-!”

“And second of all, I’m not trying to steal anyone’s titles,” Iwaizumi interrupts. “What reason would I possibly have for wanting the _Tjaty_ title? As it is, I get to live in his palace, I get to enjoy all the luxuries that come with the title, but I don’t actually have any of the responsibilities. I don’t have to go to all those stuffy meetings, I don’t have to slave over an endless number of tasks, I don’t hold any responsibility if things go wrong, and I don’t constantly operate under the threat of being reprimanded and replaced. You lazy, arrogant, portentous snobs have _no idea_ what Oikawa has to deal with on a daily basis. You have no idea how hard he struggles to keep up. You have no idea how hard he tries to prove to everyone else that he’s strong enough and capable enough to maintain his title. Why in the Lord’s name would I willingly switch places with him, let alone plot to overthrow him? I am perfectly content to help him from the sidelines. I do not desire more than that.”

Amenemhet doesn’t seem at all impressed by Iwaizumi’s declaration. Nor does he seem to believe it. He leaves the cellar without another word.

Iwaizumi isn’t sure how long he’s in that cellar. Food appears what Iwaizumi guesses to be once a day, but he can’t be certain since they’re underground. Every day Iwaizumi stays locked up here, he worries more and more for his family. They had to have figured out that something happened when he didn’t show up for dinner. Did they then go to the palace to look for him? Even if they didn’t, after not returning for days, Oikawa is bound to know something is wrong by now. Iwaizumi hopes that he’s not going crazy over this. He hopes that his mother isn’t panicking. She’s getting too old to be stressed out like this. Especially considering this would be the second time this has happened to him.

Iwaizumi grows guilty thinking of his family and Oikawa worrying over him. He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve remained more alert. He should’ve learned to drive a chariot like Oikawa’s been insisting. If he had been on a chariot, he wouldn’t have been snuck up on. But he can’t be dwelling on ‘what ifs’ right now. ‘What ifs’ are not going to get him out of here, so his mind turns to Oikawa and his family. Are they looking for him? Oikawa has so many resources at his disposal, surely he’ll find Iwaizumi soon, if Iwaizumi doesn’t escape first. Iwaizumi really hopes that he’s keeping a level head and isn’t terrorizing everyone in his hunt to find Iwaizumi. Will he discover that it’s a member of the _Pharaoh’s_ council that has Iwaizumi? If he does figure that out, Iwaizumi hopes that he’ll go about that information carefully. He will need to handle this very delicately so as not to upset the _Pharaoh_ and the other advisors. He can’t afford to alienate them. But knowing how emotionally driven Oikawa can be, he works on trying to get himself out before Oikawa gets the chance to destroy all of his political standing.

Amenemhet appears every once in a while as well, to try and press Iwaizumi for his ‘motives’ and his ‘plans’, but there’s not much Iwaizumi can tell him, considering the man is clearly crazy. But every day that the advisor comes down to talk to Iwaizumi, to rant about Oikawa and how Iwaizumi can’t be allowed to succeed in his ‘plot’, Iwaizumi’s feeling of unease starts to grow. Until one day, he can’t keep it to himself. He needs to know.

“What is your issue with Oikawa anyway?” Iwaizumi asks, pulling at the bindings on his wrists. They haven’t been untied since Iwaizumi arrived, and his shoulders and elbows are killing him, and the bruises around the rope are growing larger and larger. “Why are you obsessing about this so much? Enough to have me kidnapped.”

“I told you, you’re a threat to Egypt,” the man huffs, as if it were so obvious.

“No, I’m not and you know it. One man will never have the power to topple the Egyptian empire,” Iwaizumi points out. “But I could be a threat to the _Tjaty._ I could crumble the Oikawa household from within, which is what you’re worried about. So I’ll ask again: what is your issue with Oikawa? Why are you so desperate to protect him? You don’t actually… feel something for him, do you?”

The advisor’s face grows red, just as it did the last time Iwaizumi accused him of nearly the same thing, and that same disgust rolls through Iwaizumi.

“You do, don’t you? You have _feelings_ for your _Tjaty_. That’s why you want to protect him from someone you perceive as a threat.”

“It’s more than that though,” the advisor suddenly snaps. He’s angry as he spins on Iwaizumi. “Yes, he needs to be protected. He’s all alone in that palace, no family to keep an eye on the people he keeps for company. If his father were still alive, he would never have allowed him to get so close to a Jew. He deserves- no, he _needs_ an Egyptian, he needs someone that can protect him, that can take care of him and love him. Someone of noble status, like me.”

Iwaizumi’s disgust slowly shifts into anger and an alarmingly intense possessiveness as Amenemhet speaks. His words paint a picture in Iwaizumi’s mind, not even an indecent picture, but the thought of this man in Oikawa’s palace, seated at his desk with him, sharing casual conversation with him, casual touches, has Iwaizumi’s blood boiling. A heat surges through him, uncontainable, and he flexes against the straining ropes.

“I may be an Israeli commoner, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, Oikawa fell in love with me. And I with him. As long as it is what he wants, he is _mine_ ,” Iwaizumi growls, his eyes holding a challenge he dares the advisor to take. “And as long as I’m around, I will never let you have him. I will _kill you_ if you so much as look at him the wrong way.”

Amenemhet falters at Iwaizumi’s aggressive display, but then manages to collect himself. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to get rid of you.”

…

The only lit candle in the room flickers. Soon it’ll go out, but Oikawa can’t bring himself to stand and find a new candle. His head is heavy in his hands, his elbows digging into his knees. The resounding silence in the room is grating at him. He hates it. It’s so different than the silence that usually fills the space when Iwaizumi is at the desk with him. That silence is comforting, peaceful, content. This silence is loud, harsh, despairing. Oikawa wants- no, he _needs_ it to stop.

It’s been four days since Yahaba showed up at his door to tell him that Iwaizumi never made it to his family’s house. Four days. Oikawa had spent the first two days out in that chariot, going door to door, asking if anyone had seen Iwaizumi. Despite being in a simple _shendyt_ and lacking his _nemes_ , _wesekh_ , armbands, and kohl, the people still recognized him. It made his task exceptionally difficult when they tried to prostrate themselves to him, when they refused to meet his eyes, when they stuttered over their words, when they started bringing up matters they wanted their _Tjaty_ to be made aware of. When they just wouldn’t understand how desperate Oikawa was to find Iwaizumi.

After returning home with horses run ragged, forced to work two full days without rest, to find that no one else had any luck finding Iwaizumi, or even managed to find a hint as to where he may have gone or what may have happened, Oikawa had lost it. It took both Matsukawa and Hanamaki to drag him into the privacy of his rooms, where Yahaba held him and let him wail and cry into his shoulder as he murmured reassuring words. But no amount of reassuring words would bring Iwaizumi back to him.

He went out the day after, and today as well, asking, pleading, for any information, for anyone that may have seen Iwaizumi, for anyone who’s heard anything about an Israeli in the city. Nothing. And now Oikawa is back in his rooms, his mind running rampant with scenarios as to what may have happened to Iwaizumi, each one worse than the last. He hasn’t seen Iwaizumi’s mother since she begged him to bring her son back that first night in the hallway. He can’t bring himself to face her. He failed her the first time with his mistreatment of Iwaizumi, and now he’s failing her a second time by not finding her son.

There’s a tentative knock on Oikawa’s door, but Oikawa doesn’t move from where he’s seated on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t call to the person on the other side, to either come in or leave him alone. He hears the door open, then a soft set of footsteps enter the room. Oikawa doesn’t look up from the floor. He doesn’t care who it is, unless it’s Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi is the only person he wants to see right now.

“My Lord,” Yahaba’s voice murmurs as he enters the bed chambers. His sandaled feet enter Oikawa’s line of sight, then he kneels before Oikawa so that he can meet his eyes. Oikawa doesn’t even have the energy to look away. “You need to eat something, My Lord.”

“I’m not hungry,” Oikawa murmurs.

Yahaba is quiet for a long moment, obviously weighing his words. He lifts a hand to Oikawa’s arm in a comforting touch.

“We will find him, Tooru,” he says, his voice soft.

Those simple words, and all the doubt surrounding them, are enough to reopen the floodgates. Tears well up behind Oikawa’s eyes and a lump forms in his throat. He hiccups around the sob he’s fighting to hold back, and Yahaba moves closer to Oikawa so he can pull him into a tight hug.

“What if we don’t find him?” Oikawa cries into Yahaba’s shoulder. “I’ve already lost everyone else. There’s no one left. I can’t lose him too. I can’t….”

“We’ll find him, Tooru,” Yahaba repeats. “Even if we have to overturn the entire city, we’ll find him.”

Oikawa wants to believe him. He really does.


	13. Reprieve

“My Lord, you have a visitor,” Yahaba says from the doorway to Oikawa’s rooms.

“Tell them I’m not receiving guests,” Oikawa replies, not looking up from the document in front of him. Unfortunately work doesn’t stop even when the most important person in his life is missing. And he’s already put off enough work since Iwaizumi disappeared. But as soon as he’s done with this, he’s heading out to search some more. Which means he doesn’t have time for visitors. Besides, he’s not exactly in the mood to play host.

“I tried but… he’s very persistent, and I… I don’t exactly have the authority to send him away,” Yahaba tells him.

Oikawa looks up then, a frown marring his face. “Who is it?”

“One of the _Pharaoh’s_ advisors, My Lord,” Yahaba answers.

Oikawa exhales in frustration and stands from his desk. He doesn’t care that he’d not exactly dressed to receive a member of the _Pharaoh’s_ council, wearing only a long, off-white loin cloth. He doesn’t care that his hair isn’t covered, that his eyes aren’t kohled, that he’s not wearing any of the symbols of his title or house, as he storms out of his rooms and down the hall. He hasn’t even completely rounded the corner into the entrance hall when he starts to speak.

“When my Master of the House tells you that I am not receiving guests, the order had come straight from me,” Oikawa says, his voice hard as his eyes fall upon the advisor standing so casually in his entrance hall, as if he owns the place. “So why are you still here, Amenemhet?”

“I heard about your Jew,” the man says. His eyes flicker down Oikawa’s bare, undecorated chest, and down the bare line of his outer thigh. Oikawa suddenly feels too exposed, deciding that maybe he should’ve taken the few minutes to properly dress himself.

But Amenemhet’s words completely distract Oikawa from the man’s ogling, and Oikawa bristles. He grinds his teeth and counts to three to hopefully regain some composure and not say something stupid. Iwaizumi would be proud of him. “What did I tell you about insulting him in front of me?”

“I was sorry to hear that he ran away from you,” Amenemhet continues, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But I have to say, this is probably for the best. Keeping the company of someone like that… you’re lucky he disappeared before your image was completely destroyed.”

Oikawa’s composure is slipping, and he’s starting to doubt his ability to reclaim it. If Amenemhet keeps speaking like this, Oikawa can’t guarantee that he’ll leave with all of his teeth.

“He didn’t run away,” Oikawa says, the words slow and careful in his struggle not to lose himself. “He was taken from me. And trust me when I say I _will_ find him, and I will destroy whoever dared to take him from me.”

Amenemhet sighs and takes a few steps closer to Oikawa. Oikawa doesn’t back off an inch. He’s taller than Amenemhet, and even if it’s by only a couple inches, he uses it to his full advantage as he stares down his nose at the man.

“My Lord, you should look at this as a good opportunity and seize it,” he says. He’s standing way too close to Oikawa, but Oikawa can’t take a step back. He can’t lose ground in front of someone who is his social inferior. “That Jew wasn’t good for you. He didn’t belong in our world. It would do you good to let him go. It would be my pleasure to take his place.” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes roaming over Oikawa’s body again before arriving back on his face. Oikawa has to suppress an uncomfortable shiver. One of the advisor’s thick hands comes up to run fingers through Oikawa’s hair. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you in our political world, Tooru. Someone who can compliment your beauty. Not a mangy mutt-”

Oikawa slaps the man’s hand away, no longer bothering to mask his anger or his disgust. Amenehet takes a step back in surprise, his expression shifting from a longing he hadn’t even attempted to mask into one of offense.

“You will refer to me by my proper titles,” Oikawa snaps, taking a step into Amenemhet. He scrambles back a step with wide eyes. “And if you _ever_ touch me again, I will have that hand removed. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Amenemhet nods quickly, his eyes still wide and- much to Oikawa’s pleasure- somewhat fearful. They can read the truth in Oikawa’s words.

“Iwaizumi may not be a noble, and he may not be Egyptian, but he is twice the man you could ever even hope to be. He is mine, and I cannot imagine a better person to have by my side. No one could ever even hope to compare to him in my eyes. Certainly not a repulsive snake like you. Now get out of my palace before I have you forcefully removed.”

…

It’s been six days since Iwaizumi disappeared. Six days. Oikawa is long past having lost his mind over it. But he refuses to give up. He knows Iwaizumi is out there somewhere, and he will never rest until Oikawa has him back safely in his palace.

But first, there is a new obstacle he has to tackle. Or rather, an obstacle that he’s been avoiding for days. He can’t keep avoiding it though. She is as much in pain over Iwaizumi’s disappearance as Oikawa is. He can’t keep ignoring her.

He takes another few deep breathes, then raises a hand to knock on the wooden door. He waits with baited breath, a rather large part of him hoping that no one will answer, that he can get back on his horse and-

Hurried footsteps echo through the house, and then the door is thrown open. Hopeful green eyes- eyes so much like Iwaizumi’s- fall on Oikawa, and the hope fades. Oikawa takes another deep, shuddering breath and bows his head to Iwaizumi’s mother.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs to the ground. “I still haven’t found him. But I promise you I won’t ever stop looking for him.”

I gentle hand touches his cheek, the fingertips light as they caress his skin. When he straightens, his eyes meeting the watering eyes of Iwaizumi’s mother, he feels his own tears starting to surface. She pulls him down into a tight hug and Oikawa hugs her back. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from this visit. Maybe to be yelled at, to be blamed, to have the door slammed in his face. He doesn’t know if her anger would’ve been better than this, but he finds that he takes comfort in her warm arms. They remind him of his own mother, when she would hug him to her chest and kiss the top of his head. It’s calming.

When Farah pulls back from Oikawa, she looks him once over and takes his hand. “You are so skinny,” she says. “We’re just about to have dinner. Come join us.”

“Oh, I should probably-” Oikawa starts to argue.

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You need to take care of yourself, Tooru,” she says, leading him to a chair. A hand on his shoulder forces him to sit. “How do you hope to find Hajime if you’re not in top shape?”

Iwaizumi’s two younger brothers are already seated at the table, staring openly at Oikawa, and it’s only a moment later that Azhar enters the room. He pauses when he notices their guest.

“Any news, My Lord?” Azhar asks as he takes a seat at the table.

“Please, just call me Oikawa,” Oikawa insists. “And no, not yet. But we’re still looking.”

“I want to help,” Azhar tells him as Farah starts setting bowls out on the table.

Oikawa frowns as Amenemhet’s words run through his mind, not for the first time since the man left. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Azhar demands. “Another man, another pair of eyes, would be useful, wouldn’t it? He’s my brother, I want to help.”

“I know, and if you had asked me two days ago, I would’ve gladly accepted your help,” Oikawa quickly tells him. “But yesterday… well, I’m starting to think that Iwai- that Hajime was targeted because he’s Israeli.”

Farah’s eyes widen, and she looks to her three children, her three Israeli children with their darker skin and light colored eyes, that stand out just enough to be recognized against the pale skin of the Egyptians.

“I don’t think he was targeted solely because he is Israeli,” Oikawa is quick to try and reassure her. “I think it may also have to do with the fact he’s so close with me. I’ve recently become aware of the fact that some people aren’t too pleased that someone of my status keeps an Israeli for a companion. So while I don’t think any of you are at risk, it might be best if you all lay low and stay indoors for now. I would rather be safe than sorry. It’s because of this that… well, I probably shouldn’t come back here, not until this whole mess has been sorted out. I’ve put all of you at risk enough as it is.”

Azhar slowly nods in understanding, and when Oikawa glances at Farah, her eyes are still worried, but there’s something else there as well. She looks at Oikawa with a kindness that he really doesn’t deserve.

“Thank you, Tooru,” she murmurs. “You’ve been so good to my family, more than I ever would’ve expected. I’m sorry for my harshness towards you when we first arrived. I can see now that it was misplaced. I can see how much you care for my family and for my Hajime.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Oikawa quickly assures her. “I will never stop trying to atone for my mistakes. And I’m going to start by finding Iwaizumi, and when I find out who was responsible for this, they’ll be praying to Osiris to take them before I’m done with them.”

“And may the Lord have mercy on them,” Farah adds with a soft smile.

They’re all finishing up their dinner, Oikawa thanking Farah for a delicious meal, when a hard knock sounds on the front door. Azhar isn’t even fully on his feet yet when the door is thrown open and Hanamaki hurries inside, followed quickly by Matsukawa. They’re both breathing hard. Matsukawa is the first one to find his voice.

“My Lord, we think we know where Iwaizumi is.”

…

Despite his threat to get rid of Iwaizumi, Amenemhet leaves and he doesn’t return for quite a while, although Iwaizumi can’t be sure for how long. At one point, Amenemhet returns just to rant at Iwaizumi about how Oikawa ‘doesn’t know what’s best for him’ and ‘how can he be so loyal to a Jew?’ and Iwaizumi gets the sickening feeling that Amenemhet had gone to Oikawa. Obviously he had been rejected, but just the thought of this snake trying to worm his way into Oikawa’s life on any level ignites a rage in Iwaizumi’s very core. What did he say to Oikawa? What did he try to do to Oikawa? Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa isn’t some weak damsel- as much as Azhar likes to joke- and that he wouldn’t have allowed someone like Amenemhet to make any unwanted advances. But just the thought of this man approaching _his_ Tooru like that has his blood boiling.

He doesn’t say anything to Iwaizumi, and completely ignores Iwaizumi’s threats, and then leaves, not to return for quite a while. In his absence, Iwaizumi starts to worry about Oikawa for a whole different reason than his previous worries. He had been so caught up in worrying over how Oikawa was handling his absence, worrying about Oikawa causing too many political problems if he were to figure out that Amenemhet was behind Iwaizumi’s capture, that he didn’t stop to think that Amenemhet would actually be so quick to go after Oikawa. Iwaizumi had stupidly assumed that he would have plenty of time to escape, or for Oikawa to find him, and warn Oikawa about Amenemhet. Now he’s realizing that there is no time. He needs to get himself out of here before anything happens to Oikawa. What if, after being refused, Amenemhet has Oikawa kidnapped as well? He’s obviously not above resorting to such tactics to get what he wants, and that thought horrifies Iwaizumi.

The only problem is that, if he knew how to get himself out of this cellar, he would’ve already. He’s no closer to escaping these bindings than he was when he first awoke on this cold floor.

The next time Amenemhet appears in the cellar, it’s with a long knife clutched in his meaty fist, and Iwaizumi’s heart jumps into his throat. This is it, he’s run out of time. He needs to find a way out now. He’s young and fit, and Amenemhet isn’t. Even bound, Iwaizumi thinks he could probably knock him onto the ground. He would just need to get his hands on that blade. Once he’s freed from these ropes, it wouldn’t even be a contest, even in his weakened state. The problem will be actually getting Amenemhet on the ground before Amenemhet kills him.

“He won’t give up on you while he thinks you may still be alive,” Amenemhet says, but it’s a hushed muttering, almost like he’s talking to himself. He’s going crazy, which only makes him so much more dangerous and completely unpredictable. “I’ll just have to show him that you aren’t alive.”

He takes a step towards Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi tenses, ready to do whatever he can to fight back, when the door to the cellar suddenly slams open. Both sets of eyes turn to the door and Iwaizumi can’t even begin to describe his relief as Kyoutani rushes into the room, two snarling dogs leading the way. Just behind him is Oikawa, followed by Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Yahaba, and Azhar.

Amenemhet turns to run deeper into the cellar. Iwaizumi isn’t quite sure where he’s trying to go, but he doesn’t get far. Kyoutani’s dogs flash past Iwaizumi to cut off Amenemhet’s escape, and Kyoutani follows after them to secure the advisor. He doesn’t see much more than that, because suddenly Oikawa is dropping onto his knees in front of Iwaizumi, reaching for the ropes securing Iwaizumi’s wrists.

His eyes are wide and frantic, his hands shaking like leaves as he struggles to untie the ropes. His fumbling fingers are making absolutely no progress, and it’s only a moment before Oikawa’s tears start dripping onto Iwaizumi’s hands. Iwaizumi turns his bound wrists in Oikawa’s hands to grasp them tightly in his own. Oikawa looks up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time, and Iwaizumi tries to offer him the most reassuring smile he can.

“Calm down, Tooru,” he murmurs, lifting his hands to brush at the quivering line of Oikawa’s jaw. “I’m okay.”

Azhar kneels beside them, Amenemhet’s knife in his hands, and he reaches for Iwaizumi’s wrists to start cutting at the binds. Iwaizumi keeps his attention on Oikawa. His chest hurts with the relief he feels at seeing this man again, and he leans his forehead against Oikawa’s as the _Tjaty_ takes a few deep, shaky breathes to try and calm himself down. He never thought he could ever feel this way about someone. He knew he loved Oikawa, but he didn’t realize exactly how much. Or perhaps he never understood what it meant to love someone, all the feelings involved. But this, the ache in his chest, the itch in his fingers to touch Oikawa, his need to hold the man and never let go, wanting to stop his tears and see him smile, wanting to see him happy…. This is what love is. And he realizes now that he is truly head over heels.

Once the binds around Iwaizumi’s wrists and ankles are cut, Oikawa throws his arms around Iwaizumi and pulls him into a crushing hug. Iwaizumi’s shoulders and wrists burn with their sudden freedom after Lord knows how many days, but he is quick to wrap his arms around Oikawa’s waist and return the hug. After not nearly long enough, he feels Oikawa start to pull away from him, but before he can protest, Oikawa’s lips are on his in a searing kiss. Oikawa is pouring everything into the kiss, his love for Iwaizumi, his relief that he found him, how much he missed him, how much he worried about him, and Iwaizumi returns it with just as much feeling, not caring in the slightest about the people around them.

They only pull back when someone clears their throat beside them. Oikawa breaks off the kiss, but he doesn’t back away. He doesn’t remove his arms from around Iwaizumi’s neck.

“My Lord, what should we do with the council member?” Yahaba asks, looking over at the man Kyoutani and his dogs are holding.

Iwaizumi catches Amenemhet’s wide eyed, devastated look, having seen their passionate kiss, and Iwaizumi can’t help himself as he smirks back at him, lifting a hand to caress Oikawa’s cheek and brush up through his soft hair. Oikawa makes the whole display even better when he leans into Iwaizumi’s touch, completely oblivious to Iwaizumi’s taunting intentions.

“I don’t care what you do with him,” Oikawa responds flippantly. “Kill him. Or let him rot down here. I really couldn’t care less what happens to him as long as he suffers.”

“Oikawa-” Iwaizumi starts to protest.

“My Lord, wait!” Amenemhet stutters, lurching forward. He stops at the snapping of the dogs, and Kyoutani moves to stand between Amenemhet and Oikawa. “Please, I only had your best interests in mind!”

“ _My best interests_?!” Oikawa snaps, furious as he surges to his feet. Iwaizumi tries to follow, to grab him and keep him from doing something stupid, but his legs can’t hold his weight and he falls back down onto his knees, pain shooting up his legs from his ankles. “I told you very clearly that Iwaizumi is what’s best for me. I also recall telling you that if you insulted Iwaizumi again I would have you removed from your position. You’ve gone far beyond insulting him. So provide me with one good reason why I shouldn’t have Kyoutani feed you to my dogs.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, his voice harder this time. Azhar extends a hand to him and helps him to his feet. His legs are screaming in pain, but he ignores it as he leans against his brother. “You need to stop acting with your heart and start acting with your head. You can’t have him executed just because he kidnapped an Israeli commoner.”

“Just?!” Oikawa retorts. “I thought you of all people would-”

“Oh trust me, I definitely want to see him dead, but not for the same reason you do,” Iwaizumi tells him. “But that’s beside the point. A good leader doesn’t execute people because they upset him. You need to handle this the right way. Have him sent before the _Pharaoh_. He’s the only one who can pass such judgment.”

Oikawa frowns, looking back at Amenemhet still cowering on the ground. Eventually, he releases a frustrated sigh. “I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbles, looking back at Iwaizumi. “Fine. Kyoutani, Matsukawa, Yahaba, take him to the _Pharaoh’s_ palace. Yahaba, I need you to present him to the _Pharaoh_ on my behalf and tell him what happened. Tell him that I’ll pay him a visit myself tomorrow to further discuss the situation.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Yahaba says.

Matsukawa joins Kyoutani in hoisting the advisor to his feet and dragging him out of the cellar, Yahaba following closely behind. Oikawa steps up to Iwaizumi’s free side, lifting his arm over his shoulders to help Azhar lead Iwaizumi from the cellar.

“If you don’t want him killed for what he did to you, then what do you want him dead for?” Oikawa asks as they leave the cellar and step out into the chilly night. Iwaiuzmi frowns. He thought it was morning. He starts wondering how long he was in that cellar. It felt like it was weeks.

“I want him dead because he tried to steal you away from me,” Iwaizumi answers honestly. “He told me that you deserved better than me, and that he was going to care for you and love you the way you deserved. While I may somewhat agree with the former, I was never going to let the latter happen. I may not understand what it is you see in me, but as long as you want me, you’re mine, and there’s no way I’m giving you up to a sleazebag like him.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa nearly coos. They stop beside the chariots waiting on the dirt road and Azhar not so subtly passes Iwaizumi off to Oikawa and makes his escape. “But he was wrong on more counts than you give him credit for. You are exactly what I deserve. You’re good for me. And I’m so happy that I still have you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Iwaizumi grins. “It’ll take a lot more than tying me up in a creep’s cellar to remove me from your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter needs to be totally rewritten so it might not be up for a couple days. Possibly as long as a week. But it's a smut chapter so hopefully that makes it worth the wait ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	14. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and that it's so short. I was really hoping to do more with this chapter, but this last week and a half hasn't been the best and I haven't had any motivation to write anything. So I apologize for that, but I hope that y'all enjoy this chapter anyway

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Oikawa murmurs.

Back in Oikawa’s rooms, with only the light of a single candle illuminating the dark room, the large, ugly bruises on Iwaizumi’s forearms and legs are almost not even visible. But they both know they’re there, and Oikawa runs his fingers delicately across the skin on the inside of Iwaizumi’s wrists. Iwaizumi shivers under the touch. He missed this, this soft contact, the whispered words in the privacy of Oikawa’s rooms, the feelings that fluttered in his chest with simple proximity. He missed it more than he can even begin to comprehend, and now he craves it. It’s as if he feels the need to make up for those six days apart- Iwaizumi was shocked to find out it had only been six days, but both he and Oikawa agree that it was the longest six days of their lives.

“I told you I’m fine. The physician said there is no permanent damage, that I would be sore for a couple days, and that the bruising would fade in a week or two. I’m okay, Oikawa, I promise.”

Oikawa nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. Iwaizumi leans in to claim those pouting lips with his own, and he can feel the exact moment that Oikawa gives in and melts into him. As their lips move together, softly at first, something in the both of them ignites, some deep need for each other spurred by their stressful separation. Their kiss deepens, lips parting and tongues exploring. Hands run along the dips and curves of chests and stomachs, and Oikawa gasps against Iwaizumi’s lips when Iwaizumi’s hands slip beneath the back of his _shendyt_.

Their lips don’t part as they stand- Iwaizumi on legs that are still a little weak- and stumble their way to Oikawa’s bedroom. Oikawa clings to Iwaizumi, his arms wrapped around Iwaizumi’s body, fingertips digging into his back as he holds them as close as physically possible. His grip pulls at long healed scars, as if trying to scratch them from Iwaizumi’s skin. It’s a miracle they even make it into Oikawa’s room, Oikawa nearly tripping over a stack of books. But they manage to reach the bed and the backs of Oikawa’s legs hit the edge. He falls back onto it, pulling Iwaizumi with him, refusing to let their lips part. Iwaizumi manages to catch himself above Oikawa, but with the pain that lances up his arms from his wrists, he rolls them so that Oikawa is above him.

Oikawa seems to understand, and he doesn’t waste a minute positioning himself over Iwaizumi’s hips, bracing his hands against Iwaizumi’s chest as he leans down to bring their lips back together. Iwaizumi bites at Oikawa’s lower lip, eliciting the sweetest moan Iwaizumi has ever heard in his life. He wants more of that sound, he wants more of every one of Oikawa’s sounds. They seem to spark something deep inside Iwaizumi, a deep need that he didn’t know he possessed. He needs Oikawa, every bit of him that he offers, he needs. He rolls his hips up into Oikawa’s, and more of those sounds tumble from his lips.

Iwaizumi is hard, with just that little bit of contact they’ve shared. The touches, the kisses, the sounds, they’re all sending warmth straight into his stomach, and lower into his groin. He tries desperately to keep control, to not lose himself too soon, but Oikawa isn’t exactly making that easy. And with each shift of movement, Iwaizumi can feel an answering hardness press against his own. He’s not the only one enjoying this a little too much.

Oikawa saves them both by suddenly climbing off of him, his heat disappearing with his body and leaving Iwaizumi cold and wanting on the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs breathily, then hurries into the bathing chambers.

Iwaizumi watches him leave, repositioning himself better on Oikawa’s bed. Oikawa isn’t gone long, returning a moment later with a small bottle in his hand. Just the sight of it has a shiver running down his spine to settle in his cock, knowing exactly the purpose of the bottle. He sets it on the bedside table, and Iwaizumi sucks in a breath as Oikawa unties his _shendyt,_ lettng it fall to the ground and leaving him completely naked with the exception of the golden armbands wrapped above his biceps and around his wrists. They shimmer in the weak light of the one candle in the room and when he lifts a hand to remove those as well, the words leave Iwaizumi’s lips without him actually having made the decision to say them.

“Leave those on,” he says, and Oikawa turns a smirk onto him as he reaches for the tie of Iwaizumi’s _shendyt._

“You like those, Iwa-chan?”

“Possibly,” Iwaizumi huffs, then lifts his hips so Iwaizumi can remove his _shendyt_ and toss it to the side.

Oikawa’s smirk turns hungry as he eyes Iwaizumi’s length, resting completely hard against his stomach. He climbs back on top of Iwaizumi, hands braced back on his chest, and settles on his lap again. Iwaizumi groans as Oikawa rolls his hips against Iwaizumi’s, their flushed cocks rubbing against each other’s without the fabric of their clothing caught in between. One of Iwaizumi’s hands falls to Oikawa’s hip as the other reaches for the bottle on the bedside table. He uncorks it, then coats his fingers liberally in the body oil.

Reaching between Oikawa’s legs, Oikawa gasps as Iwaizumi’s slicked fingers find his entrance. He circles it a few times, watching the way Oikawa reacts to the touch, before pressing a finger in. Oikawa whines, a high pitched sound that shoots straight through Iwaizumi. With his free hand, Iwaizumi reaches up to pull Oikawa down for a searing kiss. He swallows all of Oikawa’s sweet noises as he works his finger in and out of Oikawa’s tight heat. When Oikawa loosens around him, he adds another finger and Oikawa moans against his lips, rocking back into Iwaizumi’s fingers. The _Tjaty_ ’s fingers curl into Iwaizumi’s chest as Iwaizumi starts to scissor his fingers to properly stretch Oikawa.

Only after Iwaizumi is sure Oikawa is properly prepared does he remove his fingers to reach for the bottle of oil again. Oikawa beats him to it.

“Let me,” he breathes, his voice sounding wrecked already. He pours the oil onto his palm before bringing it down to Iwaizumi’s cock.

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to groan as Oikawa’s hand wraps around him and begins to stroke, coating his length with the slick oil. Iwaizumi’s hands find Oikawa’s hips automatically, digging into the soft flesh as Oikawa takes his time, drawing it out until the ministrations are bordering on teasing. Finally, to Iwaizumi’s relief, after a long while Oikawa positions himself above Iwaizumi’s cock. Iwaizumi forces his hips to sit still in the sheets, fighting the urge to buck up into Oikawa as he starts to lower himself onto Iwaizumi’s length. His grip on Oikawa’s hips tightens as Oikawa takes him into his heat, oh so slowly, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully against Iwaizumi’s lap. Oikawa is panting, his hands trembling against Iwaizumi’s chest.

Iwaizumi pushes himself upright, bringing their bodies flush together. He trails his lips across Oikawa’s collar bones as Oikawa’s arms wrap around his back, clinging to him as if fearing he’ll disappear if held too loosely. When Oikawa finally becomes accustomed to Iwaizumi inside him, he starts to move, his thighs flexing to lift his hips only to bring them back down again. Iwaizumi holds Oikawa’s body tightly against his, his lips still playing across Oikawa’s chest, as Oikawa settles into a steady rhythm. Oikawa’s breathy moans and gasps are music to his ears, his own groans joining not too long after as they move together, against each other.

“I missed you so much,” Oikawa breathes into his hair. “I was so worried…. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Iwaizumi’s arms tighten around Oikawa, needing him as close as possible. Iwaizumi can speak five languages, and yet he still doesn’t have enough words to describe how much he missed this man, and how grateful he is to be back in his arms.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Oikawa’s chest. It’s the only thing he can think of to say, although it comes nowhere near close enough to voicing his true feelings. “I’m here, Tooru, and I’m never leaving you again.”

Oikawa holds him tighter, their rhythm becoming quick and sporadic against each other until they come together. Neither of them move for a long time, not wanting to leave each other’s arms as they come down from their high. With Oikawa’s head pillowed on Iwaizumi’s chest, their legs tangled in each other’s and the sheets, Iwaizumi decides he could stay here like this for the rest of his life and be perfectly content. But eventually, Oikawa lifts himself off of Iwaizumi, untangling himself, and disappearing into the bathing chambers to fetch them a damp rag. Oikawa cleans them both off before crawling back into bed and curling into Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi shifts onto his side so that he can pull Oikawa into his arms.

“I’m so happy you’re back,” Oikawa says into Iwaizumi’s chest, his lips leaving a string of kisses across Iwaizumi’s skin. “I love you so much.”

Iwaizumi holds him closer, letting his eyes drift closed to the calming rhythm of Oikawa’s breathing. “I love you too.”

…

It wasn’t a quick process. It took weeks, and a lot of work on Oikawa’s part, for the _Pharaoh_ to make a decision regarding Amenemhet. Immediately after Yahaba delivered him to the _Pharaoh_ , Oikawa had his titles revoked, along with all the luxuries that came with it, such as his grand home, and had a new advisor appointed in his place. Because that much, Oikawa could do. But anything regarding Amenemhet’s punishment was solely up to the _Pharaoh_ to decide as the divine ruler of Egypt. That didn’t stop Oikawa from paying the _Pharaoh_ many visits to present his views. Every time he left the palace, it was with a promise to Iwaizumi that he would be professional and collected about it.

After weeks, the _Pharaoh_ finally decided that Amenemhet would be punished for crimes against the _Tjaty’s_ household. He wasn’t executed, but he was exiled from Egypt, and that was good enough for Iwaizumi. If he ever came back to try and steal Oikawa from him, then Oikawa really would have the power to have him executed. At first, Oikawa wasn’t too happy about it, but he grew to respect the _Pharaoh’s_ decision. One night as they lay together in bed, he told Iwaizumi that he had decided he was happy that in the very least, he’d never be able to harm Iwaizumi ever again.

“So…” Oikawa murmurs, propping himself up on his elbow and bringing his other hand up to trace aimless patterns across Iwaizumi’s chest. They’re both sweaty and still breathing hard from earlier activities, Oikawa’s cheeks still flushed in the most beautiful of ways. Iwaizumi is mesmerized, and can barely focus on Oikawa’s words. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Iwaizumi waits a few moments for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, Iwaizumi sighs. “Do about what, Shittykawa?”

“You know…” he mumbles, not looking Iwaizumi in the eye. “When you first came back, after I had freed you and you went home…. You said that you would stay as long as I needed your help. You asked if I could move your family here, and you said it might be permanent, but it might be temporary, until you all decide to go back to Israel. So… are you going back?”

Oh, that. Iwaizumi had completely forgotten that, when he first came back, he had thought it’d be a temporary situation. He didn’t realize Oikawa was so caught up on it. Iwaizumi notes how nervous Oikawa looks as he continues to avoid Iwaizumi’s eyes, as if he thinks Iwaizumi would actually tell him that he’s going back.

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa by the wrist, stilling the hand tracing patterns onto his chest. In one quick motion, he has Oikawa on his back beneath him, forcing the _Tjaty_ to look him in the eye. Iwaizumi leans in, slowly, teasingly, to press a soft kiss to Oikawa’s lips, then trail kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Once he has Oikawa squirming and hot beneath him, he pulls back to meet Oikawa’s now lust-filled gaze.

“Would you come with me?” Iwaizumi asks him.

“Hm, what?” Oikawa asks breathily, obviously having trouble focusing.

“To Israel,” Iwaizumi elaborates. “If I were to go back to Israel, would you come with me?”

Oikawa’s eyes clear a little as the words sink in. “Oh… Iwa-chan… I would- I _want_ to- but you know I can’t.”

“Then I’m not going back,” is Iwaizumi’s simple answer. He lays back down next to Oikawa, those soft brown eyes following him. They look confused, so Iwaizumi leans in to press a kiss to his swollen lips. “My place is with you, by your side, Tooru. If that means being here in Egypt with you for the rest of my life, then so be it. I won’t be returning to Israel unless it’s with you by my side.”

Oikawa’s smile is blinding, and he rolls on top of Iwaizumi so he can kiss him. His lips move against Iwaizumi’s, a hand coming up to caress his cheek. Iwaizumi can feel everything Oikawa doesn’t have the words to say, how grateful he is that Iwaizumi is staying, how much he didn’t want Iwaizumi to go, how much he loves him. And Iwaizumi returns the kiss with just as much passion.

When Oikawa pulls back from the kiss, Iwaizumi nearly chasing after those lips, it’s with a thoughtful smile. “I would like to see your home one day,” Oikawa tells him. “I want to see Israel, I want to see where you grew up, where you came from, since it’s such a big part of who you are. Maybe one day, when I’ve already chosen a successor and they will be able to handle my work for a few weeks. Maybe we could even move there when I retire from my position. I think I would really like that.”

Iwaizumi’s answering smile is pleased, warm. Just when he thought he couldn’t love this man any more than he already did….

“I would like that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left is a short epilogue and then this fic will be finished. I'll have that posted hopefully tomorrow, but maybe not until this weekend if I forget


	15. Epilogue

Iwaizumi is still not entirely comfortable on the back of a horse, and after three years he’s starting to think that he never will be. But regular horseback rides are something he willingly signed up for when he agreed to marry Oikawa. One thing he did _not_ willingly sign up for though, was suddenly having an image to uphold as husband of the _Tjaty_ , of having to doll himself up if he even so much as stepped outside the palace for some fresh air. He didn’t entirely think through what accepting Oikawa’s proposal would mean. But as he glances over at the man beside him, smiling and laughing with a group of children playing in the street, Iwaizumi decides that there isn’t anything that would’ve made marrying Oikawa not worth it.

Iwaizumi isn’t the only one who had to accept a few changes when deciding to get married though. “Tooru, we need to go,” Iwaizumi calls to him. “You know how she gets when we’re late.”

“Oh that’s right!” Oikawa gasps. “And I need to stop by the palace first. So I’ll meet you there?”

“What do you need at-” Iwaizumi starts to question, but is interrupted when Oikawa leans over to steal a kiss.

“You go on ahead. It won’t take me but a minute,” Oikawa assures him, and before Iwaizumi can question him further, he puts heel to horse and takes off down the street.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Iwaizumi turns his own horse in the direction of his mother’s house. When he ties up the horse out front and steps inside, Farah is already setting dinner out on the table. She looks up when Iwaizumi enters, watching him pull off his _nemes_ and plop it onto Mikhah’s head as he comes to greet his brother. It falls down over his eyes and Ira laughs at him as he pushes it back up. He doesn’t see Azhar, so Iwaizumi assumes he’s still on an errand for the _Pharaoh_ as his Israeli ambassador.

“Where’s Tooru?” Farah asks as Iwaizumi takes the bowl in her hands to bring to the table.

“He had to run back to the palace first,” Iwaizumi tells her.

“That husband of yours… never knows when to stop working and take a break,” Farah tisks.

“Unfortunately he can’t afford to stop working. But I don’t think that’s what he went back to the palace to do,” Iwaizumi replies.

At that moment, the door opens and Oikawa enters, his usual glowing smile on his face as he steps up to Farah to press a kiss to her cheek. Iwaizumi notes the scroll in his hand as Oikawa pulls off his own _nemes_ and puts it on Ira’s head.

“Ha! I got Tooru’s! His is fancier than Hajime’s,” Ira snickers, straightening the _nemes_ on his head.

Mikhah opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes to him and he sinks down in his chair with a pout, Iwaizumi’s _nemes_ falling lower on his brow.

“It’s okay Mikhah. You need a really big head full of hot air in order to wear the _Tjaty’s_ _nemes_ ,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Oikawa gasps as Ira frowns and Mikhah laughs. “Iwa-chan, rude!”

“Oh hush, the lot of you,” Farah scolds. “Come, sit, before the food gets cold.”

“Ah, but first!” Oikawa says as he takes a seat. He holds up the scroll and Iwaizumi eyes him curiously. “I have a little something for you, Farah. It’s also for you, love,” he says to Iwaizumi as he starts to unroll the scroll. Iwaizumi steps up behind Oikawa’s chair to get a better look at the document. His eyes widen as he reads the official text.

“What does it say, dear? You know I can’t read it,” Farah says, looking between Oikawa and the scroll.

“It’s a piece of legislation I’ve been working on for years- ever since I found out how Hajime ended up in that slave market- trying to get it accepted by the _Pharaoh_ and his council. But, finally, I got it approved. This morning I met with the _Pharaoh_ for his seal and, well, it’s official. This document declares that all peoples of nations under Egyptian rule or protection are granted all privileges and rights designated onto Egyptian civilians.”

Iwaizumi slowly takes a seat as Oikawa’s smile grows. He looks between a stunned Iwaizumi and a confused Farah.

“That sounds nice, but what does it all mean, dear? That we as Israelis are considered Egyptian civilians?”

“Mother, anyone who kidnaps an Egyptian civilian and sells them into slavery can be punished by death,” Iwaizumi tells her, finally finding his voice. “That law now extends onto the kidnapping of Israelis. This will basically put an end to the kidnap of our people to be sold as slaves here in Egypt.”

Farah gasps, a hand going to her mouth. Oikawa is still smiling, and he looks down at the official legislation in his hands. “My hope is to eventually eliminate forced servitude as a whole. This isn’t much, but for now, it’s a good start. It’s the first step, cutting off the traders from their primary source.”

“Tooru, my love, this is everything,” Iwaizumi murmurs, pulling Oikawa into a tight hug. “Now, what happened to me, what happens every day to my people, it won’t happen anymore. Mothers won’t have their children stolen away from them anymore. This… this is everything, Tooru. Thank you.”

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will get rid of the slave trade in this country,” Oikawa declares. “No one in Egypt will be bound by the chains of slavery anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!! Whether you followed this on tumblr and came to check it out on AO3, or stumbled across this here and decided to give it a go, thank you! I really appreciate all the nice comments and kudos, and the messages I've gotten on tumblr. You were all so nice, and I'm glad y'all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I have a few other projects I'm working on other than Thicker Than Blood, but none of them have enough completed to start posting yet. But keep an eye out if you're interested, and I'll probably have something new started soon.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over at [bokusaka](http://bokusaka.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Feel free to scream with/at me about volleydorks


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